
Class J_ 



Book 



SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT 



THE SEASONS. 




THE 



SEASONS. 



JAMES THOMSON. 



ENGRAVED ILLUSTRATIONS, 

FROM 

DESIGNS DRAWN ON WOOD 

BY 

FRANK STONE 
C. STONHOUSE 
FREDERICK TAYLER 
' H. J. TOWNSEND 



JOHN BELL, Sculptor 

C. W. COPE, A.R.A. 

THOMAS CRESWICK, A.R.A 

J. C. HORSLEY 

J. P. KNIGHT, R.A. 

R. REDGRAVE, A.R.A. 



THOMAS WEBSTER, R.A. 



AND WITH 

THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR 

BY PATRICK MURDOCH, D.D. F.R.S. 

AUGMENTED IN NOTES BY 

BOLTON CORNEY, ESQ. M.R.S.L. 



gttants Titian. 



LONDON: 

LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS, 

PATERNOSTER-ROW. 

1847. 



London : 
Spottiswoode and Sh< 
New-street-Square! 



,** 







£^>CM^O, 









'■J 'A^Z/lAsLL 



ADVERTISEMENT 

TO THE FORMER EDITION. 



An additional mark of homage to the merit and genius of Thomson is 
sure to delight those who are familiar with his writings ; and it claims 
the notice of all persons who can appreciate just sentiments, vivid de- 
scription, or the melody of verse. 

We have the union of those qualities in The Seasons. No poem sur- 
passes it in felicity of theme ; in ethical tendency ; in the pathos of its 
episodes ; in the truth, the richness, the variety of its details of scenery. 
The mutable circumstances of taste or fashion can never diminish its 
value. It is the perpetual calendar of nature — which may be read with 
profit and pleasure in each ' revolving year.' 

A poem of so elevated a character is entitled to the best attire ; and 
this edition has been prompted by such feelings. The publishers, aware 
of the objections which attach to preAaous attempts, were anxious to pro- 
duce a volume which should merit confidence as to the fidelity of its text, 
and become the favourite of all classes by the superiority of its graphic 
accompaniments. 

An admirer of Thomson, and of the spirit in which this project was 
conceived, I could not resist the offer of editorship ; and I have there- 
fore to describe the course pursued, and the precise amount of my respon- 
sibility. 

The form which has been adopted, while it gives scope to ornament, 
invites to perusal by its convenience. The paper, the type, and the 
various minor essentials, have received all the consideration which ex- 
perience could dictate. As the result is obvious, there can be no necessity 
for comment. 

The poem is printed from the edition of 1746, which contains the final 
revision of the author — who died in 1748. This valuable edition, after- 
wards in part mutilated, has escaped the researches of his numerous bio- 
graphers ; and the text of the subsequent editions proves to be more or 
less defective. The memoir of the poet is printed from the revised edition 
of 1768, and the ode to his memory from the original edition of 1749 ; 
both which have also escaped notice. This concurrence of editorial over- 



Vlll ADVERTISEMENT. 



sights, in works so frequently printed, is a very remarkable circumstance 
in the history of literature. 

If I notice the text before the engraved illustrations, it is in obedience 
to the rules of bibliography ; and not from insensibility to the charms 
which they possess. By others, this order may be reversed. 

The illustrations, seventy- seven in number, have been executed from 
designs furnished by various eminent artists, members of The Etching- 
Club ; which, though of recent date, has deservedly obtained celebrity. 
The designs were drawn on the wood by the artists themselves ; and have 
been engraved with the utmost attention to similitude — so that we 
behold, in effect, the very drawings. I anticipate, as to the designs, the 
entire approbation of the public. The artists have established their 
relationship to the poet : they have evinced a similar intimacy with the 
forms and phases of nature ; and a capability of giving each idea its apt 
expression. Accustomed to co-operation, they have also imparted to 
the series a harmony which we too frequently miss in ornamented works. 
A more extended encomium would be unsuitable to an advertisement. 
The list of illustrations records the subject of each design, the name of 
the artist by whom it was drawn, and of the engraver by whose skill it 
received permanency. 

It may be interesting to the scientific reader to know that the illustra- 
tions are printed from copper blocks formed by the electrotype process. 
This method has been found to be attended with several advantages in 
printing, besides the means which it affords of preserving the original 
blocks, and of renewing the electrotypes, thus forming a perpetual 
security against inferior impressions of the designs. 

A witness to the care bestowed on this volume in the typographic and 
artistic departments, I have felt a proportionate solicitude as to the edi- 
torial operations ; which alone remain to be described. In a Memorandum 
on the text of The Seasons, which appeared in the patriarchal columns of 
Mr. Sylvanus Urban, I pointed out its defective state, and called attention 
to the authoritative edition of 1746. I afterwards undertook to correct 
the proofs by that edition ; recommended the adoption of the memoir now 
prefixed ; and made some additions to it in the shape of notes. Perhaps it 
may be expedient to add, with reference to a certain resolution contained 
in the Memorandum, that I have acted on this occasion as an amateur. 

Greenwich, May 6. 1842. Bolton Cornet. 



AN" ACCOUNT 

OF 

THE LIFE AND- WRITINGS 



MR. JAMES THOMSON, 



BY PATRICK MURDOCH, D.D. F.R.S. 



It is commonly said that the life of a good writer is best read in 
his works ; which can scarce fail to receive a peculiar tincture 
from his temper, manners, and habits: the distinguishing cha- 
racter of his mind, his ruling passion, at least, will there appear 

* The life of Thomson has been frequently written. The most important 
narratives are those of Robert Shiels, published in 1753 ; of Murdoch, published 
in 1762, and revised in 1768 ; of Johnson, published in 1781, and revised in 
1783; of the Earl of Buchan, published in 1792; of sir Harris Nicolas, in 
1830; and of the Rev. Robert Lundie, of Kelso, in 1830. — Shiels wrote with 
intelligence, but is very sparing as to dates. Murdoch, the next biographer of 
the poet, was one of his most intimate friends ; and this circumstance, added to 
the merit of his narrative as a composition, stamps it with a peculiar value. 
Each of the other biographers enumerated, and especially sir Harris Nicolas, has 
produced some additional information, the substance of which I have endea- 
voured to express in the notes. I have, moreover, had recourse to Spence, to 
Joseph Warton, and to Boswell ; to the Memoranda of Thomson by Mr. Park ; 
to the Culloden papers ; to the recent Statistical account of Roxburghshire ; to 
the letters of the poet which were published by Seward, and by Lundie ; to the 
works of his principal contemporaries, etc. 

I have also been indebted to David Laing, Esq. F. S. A.L. and Sc, for various 
communications ; to the Rev. Joseph Thomson, minister of Ednam, and to the 
Rev. John Richmond, minister of Southdean, for documentary materials ; and 
to William Jerdan, Esq., M.R.S.L. etc., for the favour of some instructive col- 
loquies on his native Teviotdale. — B. C. 



X LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 

undisguised. 1 But however just this observation may be, and 
although we might safely rest Mr. Thomson's fame as a good man 
as well as a man of genius on this sole footing, yet the desire 
which the public always shows of being more particularly ac- 
quainted with the history of an eminent author ought not to be 
disappointed ; as it proceeds not from mere curiosity, but chiefly 
from affection and gratitude to those by whom they have been 
entertained and instructed. 

To give some account of a deceased friend is often a piece of 
justice likewise, which ought not to be refused to his memory ; 
to prevent or efface the impertinent fictions which officious bio- 
graphers are so apt to collect and propagate. And we may add 
that the circumstances of an author's life will sometimes throw the 
best light upon his writings ; instances whereof we shall meet with 
in the following pages. 

Mr. Thomson was born at Ednam 2 , in the shire of Roxburgh, on 
the 11th of September in the year 1700. 3 His father, minister of 
that place 4 , was but little known beyond the narrow circle of his 
co-presbyters, and to a few gentlemen in the neighbourhood ; but 
highly respected by them for his piety and his diligence in the 
pastoral duty, as appeared afterwards in their kind offices to his 
widow and orphan family. 

1 Johnson, relying on the testimony of Savage, censures this observation as 
not well-timed. I shall prove, in a future note, the incompetency of his witness. 

8 The village of Ednam is within a short distance of the Tweed. This cir- 
cumstance explains the epithet "parent- stream" — Autumn, line 889. 

3 Johnson says the 7th of September, but cites no authority. I prefer the 
date which appears in the text. The poet was baptized on the 15th. 

4 The Rev. Thomas Thomson was admitted minister of Ednam in 1692. He 
was appointed to Southdean, a more extensive parish in the same shire, soon 
after the poet was born ; and preached his farewell sermon at Ednam in No- 
vember 1 700. The manse of Southdean is near the sylvan Jed. 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. XI 

The reverend Messrs. Riccaltoun 5 and Gusthart, particularly, 
took a most affectionate and friendly part in all their concerns. 
The former, a man of uncommon penetration and good taste, had 
very early discovered, through the rudeness of young Thomson's 
puerile essays, a fund of genius well deserving culture and en- 
couragement. He undertook, therefore, with the father's appro- 
bation, the chief direction of his studies, furnished him with the 
proper books, corrected his performances ; and was daily rewarded 
with the pleasure of seeing his labour so happily employed. 

The other reverend gentleman, Mr. Gusthart 6 , who is still living 
[1762], one of the ministers of Edinburgh, and senior of the 
chapel-royal, was no less serviceable to Mrs. Thomson in the 
management of her little affairs ; which, after the decease of her 
husband, burdened as she was with a family of nine children, re- 
quired the prudent counsels and assistance of that faithful and 
generous friend. 

Sir William Bennet 7 likewise, well known for his gay humour 
and ready poetical wit, was highly delighted with our young poet, 
and used to invite him to pass the summer vacation at his country 
seat ; a scene of life which Mr. Thomson always remembered with 
particular pleasure. But what he wrote during that time, either 

5 The Rev. Robert Riccaltoun appears to have resided at Hobkirk, about 
three miles from Southdean. He was minister of Hobkirk from 1725 to 1769. 
His literary works were published at Edinburgh in 1771, 8vo. 3 vols. 

6 The Rev. William Gusthart died in 1764. His son, Robert Gusthart, 
M. D., who visited Thomson at Richmond, died at Bath in 1780. 

7 Sir William Bennet of Grubit, Bart. He is celebrated by Allan Ramsay. 
His seat was in the parish of Eckford, Roxburghshire — where he died in 1729. 
Ramsay thus adverts to its picturesque attractions : 

" Your lovely scenes of Marlefield abound 

With as much choice as is in Britain found." 

Lord Cranston and sir Gilbert Elliot were also attentive to our young poet. 



Xll LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 

to entertain sir William and Mr. Riccaltoun, or for his own amuse- 
ment, he destroyed every new year's day 8 ; committing his little 
pieces to the flames in their due order, and crowning the solemnity 
with a copy of verses in which were humorously recited the several 
grounds of their condemnation, 

After the usual course of school education, under an able 
master at Jedburgh 9 , Mr. Thomson was sent to the university of 
Edinburgh. 10 But in the second year of his admission, his studies 
were for some time interrupted by the death of his father 11 ; who 
was carried off so suddenly that it was not possible for Mr. Thom- 
son, with all the diligence he could use, to receive his last blessing. 
This affected him to an uncommon degree ; and his relations still 
remember some extraordinary instances of his grief and filial duty 
on that occasion. 

Mrs. Thomson, whose maiden name was Trotter 12 , and who was 
co-heiress of a small estate in the country 13 , did not sink under this 
misfortune. She consulted her friend Mr. Gusthart ; and having, 



8 One of these pieces, a poetical epistle to sir William Bennet, has been pre- 
served. It is chiefly remarkable for its anticipations of poetical celebrity. 

9 He was educated in the grammar-school, which was held in a chapel on the 
south side of the choir of the venerable abbey of Jedburgh. The poet had a 
twofold reason to celebrate the sylvan Jed. 

10 His matriculation is not recorded. He was admitted as a student of divinity 
in 1719, and is presumed to have left the university towards the close of 1724. 

11 The Rev. Thomas Thomson appears to have died in 1720. His tombstone 
still remains in the churchyard of Southdean, but the inscription is obliterated. 

18 The edition of 1762 has Hume. In the revised edition of 1768 it is altered 
to Trotter ; and I am enabled to confirm the propriety of this alteration by a 
certified extract from the session-records of Ednam : « 1693. Oct, 6. The said 
day Mr. Thomas Thomson minister of Ednam and Beatrix Trotter in the parish 
of Kelso gave up their names for proclamation in order to marriage." 

13 This estate, which bore the name of Widehope, is in the parish of Mor- 
battle, Roxburghshire. It is now the property of the marquess of Tweeddale. 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. Xlll 

by his advice, mortgaged her moiety of the farm, repaired with 
her family to Edinburgh — where she lived in a decent, frugal 
manner, till her favourite son had not only finished his academical 
course, but was even distinguished and patronised as a man of 
genius. She was, herself, a person of uncommon natural endow- 
ments ; possessed of every social and domestic virtue ; with an 
imagination, for vivacity and warmth, scarce inferior to her son's, 
and which raised her devotional exercises to a pitch bordering on 
enthusiasm. 14 

But whatever advantage Mr. Thomson might derive from the 
complexion of his parent, it is certain he owed much to a religious 
education ; and that his early acquaintance with the sacred writ- 
ings contributed greatly to that sublime by which his works will 
be for ever distinguished. In his first pieces, the Seasons, we see 
him at once assume the majestic freedom of an Eastern writer ; 
seizing the grand images as they rise, clothing them in his own 
expressive language, and preserving, throughout, the grace, the 
variety, and the dignity which belong to a just composition, un- 
hurt by the stiffness of formal method. 

About this time the study of poetry was become general in 
Scotland, the best English authors being universally read, and 
imitations of them attempted. Addison 15 had lately displayed the 

14 Mrs. Thomson died in 1725. The verses which our poet wrote on this 
occasion do honour to his feelings and his poetic taste. I shall give a specimen : 

" Ye fabled muses, I your aid disclaim, 

Your airy raptures, and your fancied flame : 
True genuine woe my throbbing breast inspires, 
Love prompts my lays, and filial duty fires ; 
The soul springs instant at^the warm design, 
And the heart dictates every flowing line." 

15 The criticism on Paradise Lost appeared in 1712. It occupies eighteen 
numbers of the Spectator — which, as Bisset proves, was much read in Scotland. 



XIV LIFE AND WHITINGS OF 

beauties of Milton's immortal work ; and his remarks on it, 
together with Mr. Pope's celebrated Essay™, had opened the way 
to an acquaintance with the best poets and critics. 

But the most learned critic is not always the best judge of 
poetry ; taste being a gift of nature, the want of which Aristotle 
and Bossu 17 cannot supply, nor even the study of the best originals, 
when the reader's faculties are not tuned in a certain consonance to 
those of the poet — and this happened to be the case with certain 
learned gentlemen into whose hands a few of Mr. Thomson's first 
essays had fallen. Some inaccuracies of style, and those luxuri- 
ances which a young writer can hardly avoid, lay open to their 
cavils and censure ; so far indeed they might be competent judges 
— but the fire and enthusiasm of the poet had entirely escaped 
their notice. Mr. Thomson, however, conscious of his own 
strength, was not discouraged by this treatment ; especially as he 
had some friends on whose judgment he could better rely, and 
who thought very differently of his performances. Only, from 
that time he began to turn his views towards London, where 
works of genius may always expect a candid reception and due 
encouragement ; and an accident soon after entirely determined 
him to try his fortune there. 

The divinity chair at Edinburgh was then filled by the reverend 
and learned Mr. Hamilton 18 , a gentleman universally respected and 

16 The Essay on criticism was published in 1711. It was first advertised in 
the Spectator, No. 65. The best homeborn critical-code, and the best models of 
style, appeared in the same year ! 

17 Rene Le Bossu, author of the Traite du poeme epique, 1675. — " Son 
Traite," said Voltaire in 1752, "a beaucoup de reputation, mais il ne fera jamais 

de poetes." Blair and Laharpe have censured it more pointedly. 

18 The Rev. William Hamilton, minister of Cramond in 1694, was appointed 
professor of divinity in 1709, and succeeded Wishart as principal in 1732. He died 
in the following year. Anne, his daughter, was married to John Horsley, F.R. S. 



MR, JAMES THOMSON. XV 

beloved ; and who had particularly endeared himself to the young 
divines under his care, by his kind offices, his candour, and 
affability. Our author had attended his lectures for about a year, 
when there was prescribed to him, for the subject of an exercise, a 
psalm in which the power and majesty of God are celebrated. Of 
this psalm he gave a paraphrase and illustration, as the nature of 
the exercise required ; but in a style so highly poetical as sur- 
prised the whole audience. 19 Mr. Hamilton, as his custom was, 
complimented the orator upon his performance, and pointed out to 
the students the most masterly striking parts of it ; but at last, 
turning to Mr. Thomson, he told him, smiling, that if he thought 
of being useful in the ministry, he must keep a stricter rein upon 
his imagination, and express himself in language more intelligible 
to an ordinary congregation. 

This gave Mr. Thomson to understand that his expectations 
from the study of theology might be very precarious ; even 
though the church had been more his free choice than probably it 
was. So that having, soon after, received some encouragement 
from a lady of quality 20 , a friend of his mother's, then in London, 
he quickly prepared himself for his journey. And although this 
encouragement ended in nothing beneficial, it served for the 
present as a good pretext to cover the imprudence of committing 
himself to the wide world, unfriended and unpatronised, and with 
the slender stock of money he was then possessed of. 



19 The prescribed exercise was an illustration of the 10th section of the 1 1 9th 
psalm. It was delivered in the divinity-hall on the 27th of October 1724. 

20 Lady Grisell Baillie, daughter of sir Patrick Hume afterwards earl of 
Marchmont, and wife of George Baillie of Jerviswood, Esq., then member for 
Berwickshire — both exalted characters. Rachel, their second daughter, was 
married to Charles lord Binning, in whose family Thomson acted as a tutor soon 
after his arrival in London in March 1725. Lady Grisell Baillie died in 1746. 



XVI LIFE AND AVRITINGS OF 

But his merit did not long lie concealed. Mr. Forbes 21 , after- 
wards lord-president of the session, then attending the service of 
parliament, having seen a specimen of Mr. Thomson's poetry in 
Scotland, received him very kindly, and recommended him to 
some of his friends 22 ; particularly to Mr. Aikman 23 , who lived in 
great intimacy with many persons of distinguished rank and 
worth. This gentleman, from a connoisseur in painting, was 
become a professed painter : and his taste being no less just and 
delicate in the kindred art of descriptive poetry, than in his own, 
no wonder that he soon conceived a friendship for our author. 
What a warm return he met with, and how Mr. Thomson was 
affected by his friend's premature death, appears in the copy of 
verses which he wrote on that occasion. 24 

In the mean time, our author's reception, wherever he was in- 
troduced, emboldened him to risk the publication of his Winter ; 
in which, as himself was a mere notice in such matters, he was 
kindly assisted by Mr. Mallet 25 , then private tutor to his grace the 



21 Duncan Forbes of Culloden, Esq. — He was born near Inverness in 1685, 
and admitted as an advocate in 1709. In 1722 he obtained a seat in parlia- 
ment. In 1725 he was appointed lord-advocate, and in 1737 lord-president of 
the court of session. He was a man of eminent ability, activity, and patriotism. 
Thomson has an encomiastic address to him in Autumn, line 944, etc. He died at 
Edinburgh on the 10th of December 1747. 

22 His first introductions were to the duke of Argyle, the earl of Burlington, 
and sir Robert Walpole, to Dr. Arbuthnot, Mr. Pope, and Mr Gay. 

23 William Aikman, Esq. — He was born in Scotland in 1682; became a 
pupil of Medina ; and afterwards visited Italy. He painted portraits of the duke 
of Argyle, the countess of Burlington, lady Grisell Baillie, and other patrons of 
Thomson. His own portrait is preserved at Florence. He died in 1731. 

24 The copy of verses on Mr. Aikman, as edited in 1750 and 1762, consists of 
eight lines. As edited by the earl of Buchan, from the autographic manuscript, 
it extends to forty-two lines. 

25 Mallet, as Ramsay intimates, left the Grampian heights to educate two 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. XV11 

duke of Montrose 26 , and his brother the lord George Graham 27 , so 
well known afterwards as an able and gallant sea-officer. To 
Mr. Mallet he likewise owed his first acquaintance with several of 
the wits of that time ; an exact information of their characters, 
personal and poetical, and how they stood affected to each other. 28 
The poem of Winter 29 , published in March 1726, was no 
sooner read than universally admired 30 ; those only excepted who 
had not been used to feel, or to look for, any thing in poetry beyond 
a point of satirical or epigrammatic wit, a smart antithesis richly 



Grahams. His pupils were the sons of James first duke of Montrose ; and to 
this noble patron he dedicated his tragedy of Eurydice. An interview with 
Mallet, at the residence of the duke in Hanover-square, was the earliest object of 
Thomson on his arrival in London. 

26 Lord William Graham He became earl Graham, by the death of an 

elder brother, in 1731 ; and duke of Montrose in 1741. He enjoyed his honours 
till 1790. His recollections of Mallet and Thomson might have been valuable. 

27 Lord George Graham, member for Stirlingshire, and captain of H. M. S. 
Nottingham, of sixty guns, died at Bath in 1747. 

88 The character of Mallet has been variously represented. He was " Malloch 
to his relations, Mallet to his friends, and Moloch to his enemies." Shiels, how- 
ever, declares that his intimacy with Thomson was never " once disturbed by 
any casual mistake, envy, or jealousy on either side." He died in 1765. 

29 "Winter. A poem. By James Thomson, A.M. London: printed for 
J. Millan, 1726." Folio. — Dedicated, in the epistolary form, to sir Spencer 
Compton, afterwards earl of Wilmington. The dedication was written by 
Mallet. The poem has several lines which now appear in Autumn, 963, etc., 
1030, etc. It was reprinted, with additions; a preface; and commendatory 
verses by Aaron Hill, Mira, and D. Malloch, 1726. 8vo. The first edition was 
reprinted at Dublin, for William Smith, 1726. 8vo. 

30 This phrase may lead to misconception. Was it soon read ? Shiels declares 
that the impression lay as waste paper, and Dr. Warton confirms the statement. 
The poem was much indebted for its early popularity to two divines. The Rev. 
Robert Whatley, afterwards prebendary of York, undertook to display its merit 
to the coffee-house critics ; and the Rev. Joseph Spence, afterwards professor of 
poetry at Oxford, commended it in his Essay on the Odyssey. 



XV111 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 

trimmed with rhyme 31 , or the softness of an elegiac complaint. 
To such his manly classical spirit could not readily recommend 
itself; till, after a more attentive perusal, they had got the better 
of their prejudices, and either acquired or affected a truer taste. 
A few others stood aloof, merely because they had long before 
fixed the articles of their poetical creed, and resigned themselves 
to an absolute despair of ever seeing any thing new and original. 
These were somewhat mortified to find their notions disturbed by 
the appearance of a poet who seemed to owe nothing but to nature 
and his own genius. But, in a short time, the applause became 
unanimous ; every one wondering how so many pictures, and pic- 
tures so familiar, should have moved them but faintly to what they 
felt in his descriptions. His digressions too, the overflowings of a 
tender benevolent heart, charmed the reader no less ; leaving him in 
doubt whether he should more admire the poet, or love the man. 

From that time, Mr. Thomson's acquaintance was courted by 
all men of taste ; and several ladies of high rank and distinction 
became his declared patronesses — the countess of Hertford 32 , 
miss Drelincourt 33 , afterwards viscountess Primrose, Mrs. Stan- 



31 Perhaps a sarcasm on Pope. Thomson paid his senior this fine compliment: 
" For though not sweeter his own Homer sings, 
Yet is his life the more endearing song." 

Pope, in return, sent him a poetical epistle — but never admitted it into his 
works ! He also glanced at his redundancy of epithets. 

38 Frances, daughter of the Hon. Henry Thynne, and wife of Algernon 
Seymour earl of Hertford — who became duke of Somerset in 1748. She de- 
served the rich encomium which appears in The Seasons — Spring, line 5, etc. 
In her letters, says Shenstone, we discern a "perfect rectitude of heart, delicacy 
of sentiment, and a truly-classic ease and elegance of style." She died in 1754. 

33 Anne Drelincourt, daughter of the dean of Armagh, was married to Hugh 
third viscount Primrose in 1739; and became a widow in 1741. Lady Hervey 
describes her as a very sensible, amiable woman. She died in 1775. 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. XIX 

ley 34 , and others. But the chief happiness which his Winter pro- 
cured him was that it brought him acquainted with Dr. Rundle 35 , 
afterwards lord bishop of Deny ; who, upon conversing with Mr. 
Thomson, and finding in him qualities greater still and of more 
value than those of a poet, received him into his intimate confi- 
dence and friendship — promoted his character every where — 
introduced him to his great friend the lord- chancellor Talbot 36 
— and, some years after, when the eldest son of that nobleman was 
to make his tour of travelling, recommended Mr. Thomson as a 
proper companion for him. His affection and gratitude to Dr. 
Rundle, and his indignation at the treatment that worthy prelate 
had met with, are finely expressed in his poem to the memory of 
lord Talbot. The true cause of that undeserved treatment has 
been secreted from the public, as well as the dark manoeuvres that 
were employed; but Mr. Thomson, who had access to the best 
information, places it to the account of — 

34 Sarah, eldest daughter of sir Hans Sloane, Bart., and relict of George 
Stanley, of Paultons, in Hampshire, Esq. — Thomson beautifully apostrophises 
Mrs. and miss Stanley in Summer, line 564, etc. He also wrote an epitaph on 
miss Stanley, who died in 1738 ; and was buried at Southampton. Mrs. Stanley, 
the best of parents, a lover also of astronomy and of poetry, died in 1 764. 

35 Thomas Rundle, a native of Milton- Abbots, was educated at Oxford. 
B.C.L. 1710; D.C.L. 1723. While a student there, he was introduced to 
Edward, second son of bishop Talbot. He afterwards became the favourite of 
the Talbot family, to whom he was indebted for various preferments. On the 
death of Dr. Sydall, the lord-chancellor Talbot recommended him for the see 
of Gloucester, but the stern opposition of bishop Gibson prevailed. He was, 
however, consecrated bishop of Derry in 1735. Pope, who was charmed with 
his society, said on that occasion : " He will be an honour to the bishops, and a 
disgrace to one bishop." — No person has characterised the genius and writings 
of Thomson more happily than Rundle. He died at Dublin, before he had 
reached his sixtieth year, in 1743. 

36 Charles Talbot, Esq., solicitor-general. — He did not receive the great seal 
till the 29th of November 1733. He was forthwith created baron Talbot. 



XX LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 

slanderous zeal, and politics infirm, 
Jealous of worth. 

Meanwhile .our poet's chief care had been, in return for the 
public favour, to finish the plan which their wishes laid out for 
him ; and the expectations which his Winter had raised were fully 
satisfied by the successive publication of the other Seasons: of 
Summer, in the year 1727 37 ; of Spring 2 -*, in the beginning of the 
following year ; and of Autumn, in a quarto edition of his works, 
printed in 1730. 39 

In that edition, the Seasons are placed in their natural order ; 
and crowned with that inimitable Hymn in which we view them 
in their beautiful succession, as one whole, the immediate effect 
of infinite power and goodness. In imitation of the Hebrew bard, 
all nature is called forth to do homage to the Creator, and the 
reader is left enraptured in silent adoration and praise. 

Besides these, and his tragedy of Sophonisba 40 , written and acted 

37 " Summer. A poem. By James Thomson. London : printed for J. 
Millan, 1727." 8vo. — Dedicated, in the epistolary form, to Mr. Dodington, 
afterwards lord Melcomhe. The poem was reprinted, 1728? 8vo. 

38 " Spring. A poem. By Mr. Thomson. London, printed : and sold by 
A. Millar, 1728." 8vo. — Dedicated, in the epistolary form, to the countess 
of Hertford. The second separate edition is dated 1731. 8vo. 

39 " The Seasons, [with a poem to the memory of sir Isaac Newton.] By 
Mr. Thomson. London : printed in the year 1730." 4to. Vignette, plate to 
each season, and monument of Newton. — This handsome volume, which contains 
the first edition of Autumn, was published by subscription. The proposals were 
circulated before the publication of Spring. The epistolary dedications are 
omitted. Autumn is inscribed to Arthur Onslow, Esq. : the other seasons to the 
same persons as in the first editions. The price to subscribers was one guinea. Mr. 
Dodington subscribed for twenty copies ; and, in addition to a brilliant list of no- 
bility, we observe the names of Arbuthnot, Pope, Somervile, Spence, Young. 

40 " The tragedy of Sophonisba. Acted at the theatre-royal in Drury-lane. 
By his majesty's servants. By Mr. Thomson. London : printed for A. Millar, 
1730." 8vo. — Dedicated, in the epistolary form, to queen Caroline. The pro- 



MK. JAMES THOMSON. XXI 

with applause in the year 1729, Mr. Thomson had, in 1727, pub- 
lished his poem to the memory of sir Isaac Newton 41 , then lately 
deceased ; containing a deserved encomium of that incomparable 
man, with an account of his chief discoveries — sublimely poetical, 
and yet so just, that an ingenious foreigner, the count Algarotti, 
takes a line of it for the text of his philosophical dialogues, II 
Neivtonianismo per le dame. This was in part owing to the assist- 
ance he had of his friend Mr. Gray 42 , now [1768] of the marischal 
college, Aberdeen, a gentleman well versed in the Newtonian 
philosophy, who, on that occasion, gave him a very exact though 
general abstract of his principles. 

That same year, the resentment of our merchants for the inter- 
ruption of their trade by the Spaniards in America running very 
high, Mr. Thomson zealously took part in it ; and wrote his poem 
Britannia**, to rouse the nation to revenge. And although this 
piece is the less read that its subject was but accidental and tem- 
porary, the spirited generous sentiments that enrich it, can never 
be out of season ; they will at least remain a monument of that 



logue and epilogue are anonymous contributions. The former was written by 
Pope and Mallet. This tragedy was first acted on the 28th of February, 1730. 
Masinissa was personated by Mr. Wilks ; Sophonisba, by Mrs. Oldfield. 

41 " A poem sacred to the memory of sir Isaac Newton. By James Thomson. 

London: printed for J. Millan, 1727." Folio Dedicated, in the epistolary 

form, to sir Robert Walpole. The intended life of Newton, by Mr. Conduitt, is 
announced in some lines which are omitted in the editions of 1750 and 1762. 

43 John Gray, Esq., author of A treatise of gunnery, was admitted F.R. S. in 
1732; and contributed a paper to the Philosophical transactions. In 1765 he 
was chosen rector of marischal college, Aberdeen; and by deed, dated in 1768, 
founded two mathematical bursaries in that university. He died in London, 
rector of marischal college, in 1769 ; and was buried at Petersham in Surrey. 

43 " Britannia. A poem. Written in the year 1719." [1727.] London, 

1729. 8vo. Second edition, 1730. 4to. Third edition, 1730. 8vo In the 

second edition, the deceptive date is omitted ; in the third, it re-appears. 



XX11 LIFE AND AVRITINGS OF 

love of his country, that devotion to the public, which he is ever 
inculcating as the perfection of virtue, and which none ever felt 
more pure, or more intense, than himself. 

Our author's poetical studies were now to be interrupted, or 
rather improved, by his attendance on the honourable Mr. Charles 
Talbot in his travels. 44 A delightful task indeed ! endowed as that 
young nobleman was by nature, and accomplished by the care and 
example of the best of fathers, in whatever could adorn humanity ; 
graceful of person, elegant in manners and address, pious, humane, 
generous — with an exquisite taste in all the finer arts. 

With this amiable companion and friend, Mr. Thomson visited 
most of the courts and capital cities of Europe 45 ; and returned with 
his views greatly enlarged — not of exterior nature only, and the 
works of art, but of human life and manners, of the constitution 
and policy of the several states, their connexions, and their religious 
institutions. How particular and judicious his observations were, 
we see in his poem of Liberty, begun soon after his return to 
England. We see at the same time to what a high pitch his love 
of his country was raised by the comparisons he had all along been 
making of our happy well-poised government with those of other 
nations. To inspire his fellow-subjects with the like sentiments, 
and to show them by what means the precious freedom we enjoy 

44 Charles Richard Talbot, Esq He died before his father was created a 

peer. Our learned mathematician is somewhat inattentive to synchronism. 

45 Thomson had acquired fame by The Seasons ,■ and to travel was now his 
fondest wish — not for mere recreation, but to collect fresh materia poetica. In 
December 1730, he was at Paris. He proceeded to Lyon, where he met Spence ; 
and afterwards visited the fontaine de "Vaucluse, of which he promised the countess 
of Hertford a poetical description. He was at Rome in November 1 731, and in 
correspondence with lord Binning — who died at Naples. Before the expiration 
of 1731 he was at Ashdown Park in Berkshire. He did not make the tour of 
Europe : as Lyttelton expresses it, he travelled to Italy. 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. XX111 

may be preserved, and how it may be abused or lost, he employed 
two years of his life in composing that noble work ; upon which, 
conscious of the importance and dignity of the subject, he valued 
himself more than upon all his other writings. 46 

While Mr. Thomson was writing the first part of Liberty, he 
received a severe shock by the death of his noble friend and 
fellow-traveller ; which was soon followed by another that was 
severer still, and of more general concern, the death of lord Talbot 
himself 47 — which Mr. Thomson so pathetically and so justly laments 
in the poem dedicated to his memory. 48 In him the nation saw itself 
deprived of an uncorrupted patriot, the faithful guardian of their 
rights, on whose wisdom and integrity they had founded their hopes 
of relief from many tedious vexations 49 ; and Mr. Thomson, besides 

46 " [Liberty. A poem.] Antient and modern Italy compared : being the 
first part of liberty, a poem. By Mr. Thomson. London : printed for A. 
Millar, 1735." 4to. — "Greece: being the second part, etc. 1735. — Rome: 
being the third part, etc. 1735. — Britain: being the fourth part, etc. 1736. — 
The prospect: being the fifth part, etc. 1736." — Dedicated, in the epistolary 
form, to the prince of Wales. The poem seems to have been written incompli- 
ance with a suggestion of Mr. Dodington. It is a vision, comprised in three 
thousand three hundred and eighty lines of blank verse ; and is the least at- 
tractive of the works of Thomson. The dignity of the subject is undeniable ; 
but it is not less certain that history, geography, arbitrary power, aristocratic 
sway, etc., may be more effectively treated in prose than in verse. 

47 Mr. Talbot died on the 27th of September 1733; the lord-chancellor, on 
the 14th of February 1737. The former was in his twenty-fifth year 

48 " A poem to the memory of the right honourable the lord Talbot, late chan- 
cellor of Great Britain. By Mr. Thomson. London : printed for A. Millar, 
1737." 4to. — Inscribed "To the right honourable the lord Talbot." The poem 
is in blank verse. It was published in June, 1737. 

49 In illustration of this remark, I shall transcribe the conclusion of an elo- 
quent eulogy on lord Talbot by another of his learned and judicious contem- 
poraries : " He died in the fifty-second year of his age, and though removed at 
a time of life when others but begin to shine, he might justly be said satis et ad 
vitam et ad gloriam. vixisse ; and his death united in one general concern a nation 



XXIV LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 

his share in the general mourning, had to bear all the affliction 
which a heart like his could feel, for the person whom, of all man- 
kind, he most revered and loved. At the same time, he found 
himself, from an easy competency, reduced to a state of precarious 
dependence, in which he passed the remainder of his life ; except- 
ing only the two last years of it, during which he enjoyed the 
place of surveyor-general of the Leeward Islands, procured for 
him by the generous friendship of my Lord Lyttelton. 50 

Immediately upon his return to England with Mr. Talbot, the 
chancellor had made him his secretary of briefs 51 ; a place of little 
attendance, suiting his retired indolent way of life, and equal to all 
his wants. This place fell with his patron ; and although the 
noble lord who succeeded to lord Talbot in office 52 kept it vacant 
for some time, probably till Mr. Thomson should apply for it, he 
was so dispirited, and so listless to every concern of that kind, 
that he never took one step in the affair — a neglect which his best 
friends greatly blamed in him. 

Yet could not his genius be depressed, or his temper hurt, by 

which scarce ever unanimously agreed in any other particular — and notwith- 
standing the unhappy warmth of our political divisions, each party endeavoured 
to outvie the other in paying a due reverence to his memory." — Thomas Birch, 
M.A. F.R.S. 

50 George Lyttelton, Esq., eldest son of sir Thomas Lyttelton, Bart. — lie 
was appointed a lord of the treasury in 1744, and succeeded to the title and 
estates of his father in 1751 ; but was not created a peer till 1757. A memoir 
of this accomplished and amiable man, with an exposure of the sarcastic narra- 
tive of Johnson, is a desideratum. He died at Hagley Park in 1773. — Lyt- 
telton the friend^ and his beloved Lucy, are choicely enshrined in The Seasons. 

51 Immediately? I date his return to England in 1731. His patron could 
not have made him his secretary of briefs before the 29th of November 1733. 

52 The successor of lord Talbot was lord Hardwicke. He was a lover of 
literature ; and might have divested himself, on such an occasion, of the habitual 
pride with which he has been taxed — but I cannot excuse the poet. 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. XXV 

this reverse of fortune. 53 He resumed, with time, his usual cheer- 
fulness, and never abated one article in his way of living ; which, 
though simple, was genial and elegant. The profits arising from 
his works were not inconsiderable : his tragedy of Agamemnon 5 *, 
acted in 1738, yielded a good sum; Mr. Millar 55 was always at 
hand, to answer, or even to prevent his demands ; and he had a 
friend or two besides, whose hearts, he knew, were not contracted 
by the ample fortunes they had acquired — who would of them- 
selves interpose, if they saw any occasion for it. 

But his chief dependence, during this long interval, was on the 
protection and bounty of his royal highness Frederic 56 prince 

53 This reverse of fortune seems rather to have increased his literary activity. 
I must add to the publications of 1738 : 

" Areopagitica : a speech of Mr. John Milton, for the liberty of unlicens'd 
printing, to the parliament of England. First published in the year 1644. With 
a preface, by another hand. London: printed for A. Millar, 1738." 8vo. The 
preface, of six pages, was written by Thomson Ms. note of Thomas Hollis, Esq. 

" The works of Mr. Thomson. In two volumes. London : printed for A. Millar, 
] 738." 8vo. Vignettes, plate to each season, and monument of Newton. — This is the 
first collective edition of the works of Thomson, with alterations and additions. 

54 " Agamemnon. A tragedy. Acted at the theatre-royal in Drury-lane, by 
his majesty's servants. By Mr. Thomson. London : printed for A. Millar, 
1738." 8vo. — Dedicated, in the epistolary form, to the princess of Wales. The 
prologue was contributed by Mallet. Thomson, in return, contributed a pro- 
logue to Mustapha. This tragedy was first acted on the 6th of April, 1738. 
Agamemnon was personated by Mr. Quin ; Clytemnestra, by Mrs. Porter. 

55 Andrew Millar, Esq., the very eminent publisher. He purchased the 
copyright of The Seasons in 1729, and the parties soon became friends. The 
important case of Millar v. Taylor, on the property of the poem, occupied more 
than two years. Mr. Millar died, before it was decided, in 1768. 

56 The quarrel between George II. and the prince of Wales broke out in 
1737. It was not a political quarrel ; but arose, says the noble author of 
Walpoliana, " solely out of the interior of the palace." It soon, however, bore 

a political character ; the opposition acquired strength ; sir Robert Walpole 
resigned in 1742 ; and the patrons of Thomson obtained office. 



XXVI LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 

of Wales ; who upon the recommendation of lord Lyttelton 57 , then 
his chief favourite, settled on him a handsome allowance. And 
afterwards, when he was introduced to his royal highness, that 
excellent prince, who truly was what Mr. Thomson paints him, 
the friend of mankind and of merit, received him very graciously, 
and ever after honoured him with many marks of particular favour 
and confidence. 58 A circumstance which does equal honour to the 
patron and the poet ought not here to be omitted ; that my lord 
Lyttelton's recommendation came altogether unsolicited, and long 
before Mr. Thomson was personally known to him. 59 

It happened, however, that the favour of his royal highness 
was in one instance of some prejudice to our author ; in the refusal 
of a licence for his tragedy of Edward and Eleonora 60 , which he 
had prepared for the stage in the year 1739. The reader may 
see that this play contains not a line which could justly give 
offence ; but the ministry, still sore from certain pasquinades, 

57 Mr. Lyttelton was appointed secretary to the prince, on the resignation of 
Mr. James Pelham, the 16th of August 1737. He neither solicited nor ex- 
pected the office. Thomson had made himself known to the prince by the 
dedication of Liberty, towards the close of 1734. 

58 Johnson has preserved a curious anecdote of this interview. The prince 
questioned the unfortunate poet as to the state of his affairs. He replied " that 
they were in a more poetical posture than formerly." There was tact in this 
reply : no one likes a querulous applicant. — The allowance was 1007. per annum. 

59 Six years may have elapsed before the intercourse commenced. Thomson 
received his first invitation to Hagley in July 1743. Lyttelton introduced him 
to Shenstone, who describes him as a right friendly bard, in 1746. He was a 
frequent visitor at Hagley, and always welcome at the Leasowes. 

60 "Edward and Eleonora. A tragedy. As it was to have been acted at the 
theatre-royal in Covent -garden. By Mr. Thomson. London : printed for the 
author; and sold by A.Millar, 1739." 8vo. — Dedicated, in the epistolary 
form, to the princess of Wales. The prologue and epilogue are anonymous con- 
tributions. " Advertisement. The representation of this tragedy, on the stage, 
was prohibited in the year flit* tfjmt&urtf Sfebtll Ijtmtfrett atltf t|)trtg*tUlir." 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. XXV11 

which had lately produced the stage-act 61 , and as little satisfied 
with some parts of the prince's political conduct, as he was with 
their management of the public affairs, would not risk the re- 
presentation of a piece written under his eye, and, they might 
probably think, by his command. 

This refusal drew after it another ; and in a way which, as it is 
related, was rather ludicrous. 62 Mr. Paterson, a companion of 
Mr. Thomson, afterwards his deputy and then his successor in the 
general-surveyorship, used to write out fair copies for his friend, 
when such were wanted for the press or for the stage. This gen- 
tleman likewise courted the tragic muse ; and had taken for his 
subject, the story of Arminius the German hero. But his play, 
guiltless as it was, being presented for a licence, no sooner had the 
censor cast his eyes on the hand-writing in which he had seen 
Edward and Eleo?iora, than he cried out, " Away with it ! " and the 
author's profits were reduced to what his bookseller could afford 
for a tragedy in distress. 

Mr. Thomson's next dramatic performance 'was the masque of 

61 The act of the 10th of George II. cap. 28. — This act received the royal 
assent on the 21st of June, 1737. It requires that a copy of every new inter- 
lude, tragedy, comedy, etc., should be sent to the lord-chamberlain fourteen days 
before the acting thereof; and authorises the lord-chamberlain to prohibit the 
acting, performing, or representing, any interlude, tragedy, comedy, etc. — His 
majesty, in closing the session, bitterly complained of the licentiousness of the 
times. Perhaps the authority which this act confers might have been more 
temperately and impartially exercised. Mustapha, which is not devoid of poli- 
tical allusions, was allowed to be acted — for Mallet had numerous friends. 

Gustavus Vasa and Edward and Eleonora were prohibited. Millar and Dodsley, 
the two most eminent publishers of the time, advertised in the same month 
prohibited plays ! 

62 The anecdote, as it is related, wants authenticity. The licenser could not 
venture to exercise his authority before he read the play. The final remark is 
very inapposite. Arminius, dedicated to the duke of Cumberland, was printed 
for the author, and advertised price five shillings ! 



XXV111 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 

Alfred 63 ', written, jointly with Mr. Mallet, by command of the 
prince of Wales, for the entertainment of his royal highness's 
court, at his summer-residence. This piece, with some alterations, 
and the music new, has been since brought upon the stage by 
Mr. Mallet : but the edition we give is from the original 64 , as it 
was acted at Cliefden, in the year 1740, on the birthday of her 
royal highness the princess Augusta. 65 

63 " Alfred : a masque. Represented before their royal highnesses the prince 
and princess of Wales, at Cliffden, on the first of August, 1 740. London : 
printed for A. Millar, 1740." 8vo. — This masque is anonymous, but was adver- 
tised as the production of Thomson and Mallet. It contains the undying Rule 
Britannia — which I ascribe, on no slight evidence, to Mallet. The piece was 
twice acted at Cliefden. Alfred was personated by Mr. Milward ; the hermit, 
by Mr. Quin ; Emma, by Mrs. Clive. 

64 This refers to an edition of the works of Thomson published in 1762, and 
hereafter described. Alfred seems to have been acted in commemoration of the 
accession of the house of Hanover : the princess was born on the 31st of July. 

65 Murdoch omits to notice the employments of Thomson after the comple- 
tion of Alfred in 1740; but he was never better employed. He was revising The 
Seasons — on whose origin and progress I shall now state some additional facts. 

As early as 1720 he felt the attractions of the theme — witness some lines, an 
epitome of the mysterious cycle, in his poem Of a country life : 
" Through every Season of the sliding year, 
Unto the ravish'd sight new scenes appear. 
In the sweet Spring" etc. 

He was eminently fitted to the bold design, but chance may have led him to 
decide on its execution. — " Nature, 1 " said he, "delights me in every form : " such 
were his feelings while occupied in writing his Winter; and he added, in the confi- 
dence of friendship, a "poem on winter first put the design into my head." The 
poem seems to have perished ; but the late Dr. Somerville of Jedburgh, who 
attained his ninetieth year, had heard part of it recited by the author — the Rev. 
Robert Riccaltoun. The above facts chiefly apply to Winter,' we have other 
evidence on the origin of The Seasons. Thomson informed Collins that he took 
the first hint and idea of writing his Seasons from the titles to the four Pastorals 
of Pope. The Pastorals, which were published in 1709, are entitled Spring — 
Summer — Autumn — Winter ; and in a preface thereto, published with his 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. 



XXIX 



In the year 1745, his Tancred and Sigismunda, taken from 
the novel in Gil Bias, was performed with applause ; and from 
the deep romantic distress of the lovers, continues to draw crowded 

Works in 1717, the author remarks that "the year has not that variety in it to 
furnish every month with a particular description, as it may every season." 

There is a remarkable resemblance between the two writers in Winter ; and 
it adds to the testimony of Collins, as reported by Dr. Warton : 

"'Tis done, and nature's various charms decay." Pope. 

"'Tis done! — Dread Winter has subdu'd the year." Thomson. 

In the first edition of Winter, Thomson also sang of fair Autumn. In the 
second edition he earnestly pleaded in favour of descriptive poetry, and thus 
intimated his entire design : " How gay looks the Spring ! how glorious the 
Summer ! how pleasing the Autumn! and how venerable the Winter !" This 
design was completed, as Murdoch observes, in 1730 ; but he should have added 
that a revised edition of the Seasons appeared in 1738; another edition, with 
considerable additions and improvements, in 1744; and another edition, with the 
final revision of the author, in 1746. 

The number of lines contained in the poem, at the above-mentioned epochs, shall 
now be stated in a tabular form. The italic figures denote the first editions. 



A. D. 


1726 


1727 


1728 


1730 


1738 


1744 


1746 


Spring . . 






1082 


1087 


1087 


1173 


1176 


Summer 




11 46 




1206 


1206 


1796 


1805 


Autumn . 








1269 


1269 


1375 


1373 


Winter 


405 






781 


787 


1069 


1069 


Hymn . . 
Total 








121 


121 


118 


118 








4464 


4470 


5531 


5541 



It thus appears that Thomson paid no serious attention to the poem in the 
interval 1730-8. He afterwards undertook to correct it; made considerable 
additions; and inscribed it to the prince of Wales in 1744. He also re-edited 
the poem, with further additions, in 1746. The volumes are entitled: 

" The Seasons. By James Thomson. London : printed for A. Millar, in 
the Strand. 1744." Sm. 8vo. pp. 4 + 242. Vignette, and plate to each season. 



XXXll LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 

passing ; so that when the weather did not invite him to go by 
water, he would commonly walk the distance between London and 
Richmond 69 , with any acquaintance that offered, with whom he might 
chat and rest himself, or perhaps dine, by the way. One summer- 
evening, being alone, in his walk from town to Hammersmith, he 
had overheated himself, and in that condition, imprudently took a 
boat to carry him to Kew ; apprehending no bad consequence from 
the chill air on the river, which his walk to his house, at the upper 
end of Kew -lane, had always hitherto prevented. But, now, 
the cold had so seized him, that next day he found himself in a 
high fever, so much the more to be dreaded that he was of a full 
habit. This, however, by the use of proper medicines, was removed, 
so that he was thought to be out of danger ; till the fine weather 
having tempted him to expose himself once more to the evening 
dews, his fever returned with violence, and with such symptoms as 
left no hopes of a cure. Two days had passed before his relapse 
was known in town ; at last, Mr. Mitchell 70 and Mr. Reid 71 , with 



69 He had resided at Richmond six years or more. His earliest letter from 
Kew-lane is dated in November 1742; and his encomium on delightful Sheen, 
with its boundless landscape, appeared in 1744. His attachment to the spot in- 
creased, and he wrote thus to Mr. Paterson only four months before his decease: 
" You must know that I have enlarged my rural domain." 

70 Andrew Mitchell of Thainston, Aberdeenshire, Esq He was patronised 

by the celebrated duke of Argyle, and had the entire confidence of the lord-pre- 
sident Forbes. In 1742 the marquess of Tweeddale made him his under-secretary 
of state. In 1747 he obtained a seat in parliament. Thomson wrote to his 
friend Paterson on that occasion : " Mitchell is in the house for Aberdeenshire, 
and has spoken modestly well : I hope he will be in something else soon. None 
deserves better : true friendship and humanity dwell in his heart." In 1756 he 
was appointed envoy extraordinary to the king of Prussia ; and was an eye- 
witness of the battle of Prague. In 1765 he was invested with the order of the 
bath. He died at Berlin in 1771. 

71 Andrew Reid, Esq "A man," says Johnson, "not. unacquainted with 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. XXX111 

Dr. Armstrong 72 , being informed of it. posted out at midnight to his 
assistance — but, alas! came only to endure a sight of all others the 
most shocking to nature, the last agonies of their beloved friend. 
This lamented death happened on the 27th day of August 1748. 73 
His testamentary executors 74 were the Lord Lyttelton, whose 

letters or with life." He wrote on chronology and on logarithms. He also 
edited, for lord Lyttelton, the History of Henry II. — Murdoch was one of his 
friends, and addressed to him a paper on parallax. . He died after 1768. 

78 John Armstrong, M. D. — the author of The art of preserving health. He 
was a native of Roxburghshire — the son of a minister — educated at Edinburgh — 
a writer of blank verse — and had just finished a poem on winter when the Winter 
of Thomson appeared ! These are curious coincidences. On other points, the con- 
trast was not less striking — nevertheless, Armstrong and Thomson were intimate 
friends. Armstrong survived, in despite of his morbid aversion to life, till 1779. 

73 The interesting letter which follows is preserved in the Culloden papers : 

" My dear P. [Patrick.] Richmond, in Surry, Saturday, 27 August. 

" Our dear friend Thomson died this morning about four o'clock, after a 
very short illness. His distemper appeared first in the shape of a tertian ; but 
soon ended in a continued fever. I am here to see the last duties fairly paid. 
I am almost sunk w* this last stroke. Your's affect? 

" To the Rev. Mr. Murdoch. A.M." [Andrew Mitchell.] 

Dr. Armstrong and Mr. James Robertson attended Thomson in their medical 
capacities, and as friends. They were with him till the last moment. His 
constitution, says Armstrong, was much worn. No other particulars of import- 
ance are recorded. — He was followed to the grave by Mr. Quin, Mr. Mallet, 
Mr. Robertson, etc., on the evening of the 29th of August : 

" Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore 

When Thames in summer- wreaths is drest, 
And oft suspend the dashing oar 
To bid his gentle spirit rest !" 

74 Thomson died intestate, as appears by this official document : 

" Extracted from the Registry of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury. — October 
1748. James Thompson [sic]. On the twenty fifth day admon of all and sin- 
gular the goods chatties and credits of James Thompson late of Richmond in the 
county of Surry batchelor deceased was granted to the Hon b,e George Lyttleton 
[sic] Esq r . and Andrew Mitchell Esq r . the lawfull attorneys of Mary Craig 



XXXIV LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 

care of our poet's fortune and fame ceased not with his life, and 
Mr. Mitchell, a gentleman equally noted for the truth and con- 
stancy of his private friendships, and for his address and spirit as 
a public minister. By their united interest, the orphan play of 
Coriolanus 15 was brought on the stage to the best advantage ; from 
the profits of which, and v ,the sale of manuscripts, and other effects, 
all demands were duly satisfied, and a handsome sum remitted to 
his sisters. My lord Lyttelton's prologue to this piece was ad- 
mired as one of the best that had ever been written 76 : the best 
spoken it certainly was. The sympathising audience saw that then, 
indeed, Mr. Quin was no actor ; that the tears he shed, were 
those of real friendship and grief. 77 



formerly Thompson (wife of William Craig) the firal and lawfull sister and next 

of kin of the said deceased for the use and benefit of the said Mary Craig now 

residing at Edinburgh being first sworn duly to administer. 

Cha s . Dyneley -» „ 

Deputy 
John Iggulden V- t, . . „ 

I Registers. 
W. E GostlingJ 8 

Thomson, it appears, died a bachelor. His uncertain circumstances forbad 
him to marry. He had two surviving sisters. Jean, the wife of Mr. Robert 
Thomson, died in 1781 ; and Mary, above described, died in 1790. His house 
was well provided with furniture, plate, books, and prints ; and his cellar was 
stored with choice wines and Scotch ale. I can give no account of the manu- 
scripts. The house, or rather its site, has been successively the property of 
George Ross, Esq., who died in 1786 ; the Hon ble Mrs. Boscawen, who died in 
1 805 ; lord Falmouth, who sold it forthwith ; and the earl of Shaftesbury. 

75 " Coriolanus. A tragedy. As it is acted at the theatre-royal in Covent- 
garden. By the late James Thomson. London: printed for A. Millar, 1749." 
8vo. — This tragedy, revised by Lyttelton, was first acted on the 13th of January, 
1 749. Coriolanus was personated by Mr. Quin ; Veturia, by Mrs. Woffington. 

76 M. le baron de Barante, whose memoir of Thomson contains much judicious 
criticism and pleasing reflection, observes of the poetical address composed on 
this occasion by Lyttelton: "ce sont peut-etre les plus beaux vers qu'il ait faits: 
ils sont remplis du sentiment le plus vrai et le plus touchant." 

77 Mr. Quin, as the personal friend of Thomson, spoke the prologue in mourn- 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. XXXV 

Mr. Thomson's remains were deposited in the church of Rich- 
mond, under a plain stone, without any inscription 78 ; nor did his 
brother-poets at all exert themselves on the occasion, as they had 
lately done for one who had been the terror of poets all his life- 
time. 79 This silence furnished matter to one of his friends for an 
excellent satirical epigram, which we ara^sorry we cannot give 
the reader. Only one gentleman, Mr. Collins, who had lived 
some time at Richmond, but forsook it when Mr. Thomson died, 
wrote an Ode to his memory. This, for the dirge-like melancholy 
it breathes, and the warmth of affection that seems to have dic- 
tated it, we shall subjoin to the present account. 80 

Our author himself hints, somewhere in his works, that his ex- 
terior was not the most promising — his make being rather robust 
than graceful 81 ; though it is known that in his youth he had been 

ing. In the delivery of the following paragraph, he is said to have produced an 

extraordinary effect : 

" He lov'd his friends — forgive this gushing tear: 
Alas ! I feel I am no actor here — 
He lov'd his friends with such a warmth of heart, 
So clear of interest, so devoid of art, 
Such generous freedom, such unshaken zeal, 
No words can speak it — but our tears may tell." 

78 A brass tablet, with an inscription by the earl of Buchan, was placed over 
the spot in 1792. Mr. Park superintended its execution. 

79 An obvious allusion to Pope. Dr. Warton, however, observes that the death 
of Pope " was not lamented by any of his contemporary poets, till Mr. Mason 
made amends by his Muscbus" — which was not published till 1747. 

80 The Ode is now reprinted from the only authoritative edition, London, R. 
Manby and H. S. Cox, 1749, Folio. I have been indebted for the use of this 
rare piece to the friendly communication of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. The 

dedication was omitted by Langhorne and others 1 must add that Shiels also 

published a poem to the memory of Thomson. It is entitled Musidorus. 

81 He describes himself, in the Castle of indolence, as " more fat than bard 
beseems," I shall repeat the entire stanza; as it exhibits, says Shiels, a. just 



XXXVI LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 

thought handsome. 82 His worst appearance was, when you saw him 
walking alone, in a thoughtful mood ; but let a friend accost him, 
and enter into conversation, he would instantly brighten into a 
most amiable aspect, his features no longer the same, and his eye 
darting a peculiar animated fire. The case was much alike in 
company ; where, if it was mixed, or very numerous, he made but 
an indifferent figure — but with a few select friends, he was open, 
sprightly, and entertaining. His wit flowed freely, but pertinently, 
and at due intervals, leaving room for every one to contribute his 
share. Such was his extreme sensibility, so perfect the harmony 
of his organs with the sentiments of his mind, that his looks always 
announced, and half-expressed, what he was about to say ; and his 
voice corresponded exactly to the manner and degree in which he 
was affected. This sensibility had one inconvenience attending it, 
that it rendered him the very worst reader of good poetry : a 
sonnet, or a copy of tame verses, he could manage pretty well, or 



image of Thomson. He wrote only the first line ; the remainder being the con- 
tribution of a friend — perhaps Lyttelton : 

" A bard here dwelt, more fat than bard beseems ; 

Who void of envy, guile, and lust of gain, 

On virtue still, and nature's pleasing themes, 

Pour'd forth his unpremeditated strain, 

The world forsaking with a calm disdain : 

Here laugh'd he careless in his easy seat, 

Here quaff'd encircled with the joyous train ; 

Oft moralising sage ; his ditty sweet 
He loathed much to write, ne cared to repeat." 
82 The portrait of Thomson by Aikman, now at Hagley, confirms this opinion. 
It has been engraved. Another portrait, painted by J. Paton in 1746, has 
been engraved by S. F. Ravenet. I have an impression with this inedited 
note : " Mr. Robertson of Richmond Green, who was acquainted with Thomson 
for more than twenty years, and attended him in his last moments, assured me 
that this portrait was a very strong likeness. — T. Park, 1791." 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. XXXV11 

even improve them in the reading ; but a passage of Virgil, Mil- 
ton, or Shakspere, would sometimes quite oppress him, [so] that you 
could hear little else than some ill-articulated sounds, rising as from 
the bottom of his breast. 83 

He had improved his taste upon the best originals, ancient and 
modern, but could not bear to write what was not strictly his own — 
what had not more immediately struck his imagination, or touched 
his heart ; so that he is not in the least concerned in that question 
about the merit or demerit of imitators. What he borrows from 
the ancients 84 , he gives us in an avowed faithful paraphrase or trans- 
lation ; as we see in a few passages taken from Virgil, and in that 
beautiful picture from Pliny the elder, where the course and gradual 
increase of the Nile are figured by the stages of man's life. 

The autumn was his favourite season for poetical composition 85 , 
and the deep silence of the night the time he commonly chose for 
such studies ; so that he would often be heard walking in his 
library till near morning, humming over, in his way, what he was 
to correct and write out next day. 86 



83 Johnson relates that Mr. Dodington was once " so much provoked by his 
odd utterance, that he snatched the paper from his hand, and told him that he 
did not understand his own verses." Mr. Dodington, however, was one of his 
earliest and most generous friends. He was created baron Melcombe in 1761, 
and died in 1 762. 

84 On his classical proficiency, we have this testimony of Dr. Warton : 
" Thomson was well acquainted with the Greek tragedies, on which I heard him 
talk learnedly, when I was once introduced to him by my friend Mr. W. Collins." 

85 Thomson confirms this statement both in prose and in verse. In a letter 
to Lyttelton he says, " I think that season of the year the most pleasing, and the 
most poeticul." He expresses the same sentiment in Autumn, and in the Hymn. 

86 Mr. Park in his conversation with Mr. Robertson on the habits of 
Thomson, said — " I hear he kept very late hours?" The reply was — " No, sir — 
very early. He was always up at sunrise — but then he had never been in bed." 
We may therefore credit the assertion of Cave, that noon was his hour of rising. 



XXXV111 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 

The amusements of his leisure hours were civil and natural 
history, voyages, and the relations of travellers, the most authentic 
he could procure ; and, had his situation favoured it, he would 
certainly have excelled in gardening, agriculture, and every rural 
improvement and exercise. Although he performed on no instru- 
ment, he was passionately fond of music, and would sometimes 
listen a full hour at his window to the nightingales in Richmond 
gardens. While abroad, he had been greatly delighted with the 
regular Italian drama, such as Metastasio writes, as it is there 
heightened by the charms of the best voices and instruments ; and 
looked upon our theatrical entertainments as, in one respect, naked 
and imperfect, when compared with the ancient, or with those of 
Italy — wishing sometimes that a chorus, at least, and a better 
recitative, could be introduced. 

Nor was his taste less exquisite in the arts of painting, sculpture, 
and architecture. In his travels he had seen all the most celebrated 
monuments of antiquity, and the best productions of modern art ; 
and studied them so minutely, and with so true a judgment, that in 
some of his descriptions, in the poem of Liberty^ we have the 
master-pieces there mentioned placed in a stronger light perhaps 
than if we saw them with our eyes — at least more justly delineated 
than in any other account extant : so superiour is a natural taste of 
the grand and beautiful, to the traditional lessons of a Common 
virtuoso. His collection of prints, and some drawings from the 
antique, are now in the possession of his friend Mr. Gray of 
Richmond Hill. 87 

As for his more distinguishing qualities of mind and heart, they 
are better represented in his writings than they can be by the pen 

87 The Mr. Gray who is mentioned in a previous paragraph ; there designated 
as of marischal college, Aberdeen — here, to the quondam embarrassment of a 
certain annotator, as of Richmond Hill ! 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. XXXIX 

of any biographer. 88 There, his love of mankind, of his country and 
friends, his devotion to the Supreme Being, founded on the most 
elevated and just conceptions of his operations and providence, 
shine out in every page. So unbounded was his tenderness of 
heart, that it took in even the brute creation : judge what it must 
have been towards his own species. He is not indeed known, 
through his whole life, to have given any person one moment's 
pain, by his writings or otherwise. He took no part in the poetical 
squabbles which happened in his time ; and was respected and left 
undisturbed by both sides. 89 He would even refuse to take offence 
when he justly might ; by interrupting any personal story that was 



88 Both Johnson and Boswell had, at one period, an unfavourable opinion of 
the moral character of Thomson. Boswell, however, recanted ; and wrote thus 
to Johnson in 1778 : " He was of a humane and benevolent disposition; not 
only sent valuable presents to his sisters, but a yearly allowance in money, and 
was always wishing to have it in his power to do them more good." 

I have now to encounter Johnson and Savage. — Johnson, relying on the 
statements of Savage, hints that the poet and the man were very dissimilar 
beings : the former — a great lover, a great swimmer, and rigorously abstinent: 
the latter — insensible to passion, never in cold water, and extremely luxurious. 
Now I affirm, as to the first accusation, that Thomson was desperately in love 
with the Amanda whom he celebrates in verse; the second accusation is beneath 
discussion ; but as to the third, I am prepared to admit that he yielded more 
frequently to the allurements of festive pleasure than might become a true 
votary of serene philosophy. It was one of the prominent vices of the times. 

89 Thomson did not always escape criticism. On the appearance of Liberty, 
Mr. Hawkins Browne published his Pipe of tobacco — the most ingenious speci- 
men of imitative verse anterior to the Rejected addresses. One of the imitations 
commences thus : 

" O thou, matur'd by glad Hesperian suns, 
Tobacco, fountain pure of limpid truth, 
That looks the very soul ; " etc. 

The phrases printed in italics are from the commencement of Liberty. This was 
more than the poet could endure : he replied with extreme asperity ! 



xl LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 

brought him, with some jest, or some humorous apology for the 
offender. Nor was he ever seen ruffled or discomposed but when 
he read or heard of some flagrant instance of injustice, oppression, 
or cruelty ; then, indeed, the strongest marks of horror and indig- 
nation were visible in his countenance. 

These amiable virtues, this divine temper of mind, did not fail 
of their due reward. His friends loved him with an enthusiastic 
ardour, and lamented his untimely fate in the manner that is still 
fresh in every one's memory 90 ; the best and greatest men of his 
time honoured him with their friendship and protection 91 ; the 
applause of the public attended every appearance he made — the 
actors, of whom the more eminent were his friends and admirers, 
grudging no pains to do justice to his tragedies. 92 At present, 



90 This observation might have been correct in 1762. I could illustrate it 
by various extracts of letters — but one may suffice : — " "We have lost, my dear 
F. [Forbes], our old, tryed, amiable, open, and honest-hearted Thomson, whom 
we never parted from but unwillingly; and never met, but with fresh trans- 
port ; whom we found ever the same delightful companion, the same faithful 
depository of our inmost thoughts, and the same sensible sympathising adviser." 

— Murdoch to John Forbes of Culloden, Esq., 8 Sept. 1748. 

91 Thomson was an occasional visitor at Cliefden-house ; but the friendship 
of the lord-chancellor Talbot, of the lord-president Forbes, and of Lyttelton, 
more decidedly proves the estimation in which he was held. — I must add to the 
number of his intimate friends, in the order of survivorship, Hammond the poet 

— ob. 1742; Gilbert West the poet — ob. 1756; Robert Symmer, Esq. after- 
wards F. R. S. — ob. 1763 ; Young the poet — ob. 1765 ; John Forbes, Esq. son 
of the lord-president — ob. 1772; George Lewis Scott, Esq. F. R. S. — ob. 1780; 
and George Ross, Esq. the army agent, afterwards M. P. — ob. 1 786. — Mr. 
Robertson, who resided some years at Richmond, and married the sister of 
Amanda, was the last survivor. He died in 1791. 

92 Mrs. Oldfield was a subscriber to The Seasons, 1730. — but died in the same 
year. Mr. Quin was a sincere friend to Thomson ; and is said to have relieved 
him in a moment of pecuniary embarrassment. — The names of the actors of the 
principal parts in his dramatic pieces are given in notes 40,54,60,63,66, and 75. 



MR. JAMES THOMSON. xli 

indeed, if we except Tancred, they are seldom called for ; the 
simplicity of his plots, and the models he worked after, not suiting 
the reigning taste, nor the impatience of an English theatre. 93 They 
may hereafter come to be in vogue ; but we hazard no comment or 
conjecture upon them, or upon any part of Mr. Thomson's works 94 , 
neither need they any defence or apology, after the reception they 
have had at home, and in the foreign languages into which they 
have been translated. 95 We shall only say, that, to judge from the 
imitations of his manner, which have been following him close 
from the very first publication of Winter, he seems to have fixed 
no inconsiderable aera of the English poetry. 

93 The tragic qualifications of Thomson seem to be fairly appreciated by bishop 
Rundle. He commends him for " a profusion of worthy sentiments, and high 
poetry;" but observes that he "wants that neatness and simplicity of diction 
which is so natural in dialogue " 

94 As the biographer modestly declines the task of characterising the works of 
Thomson, I shall call in the assistance of another of his friends — lord Lyttelton. 
The extract which follows, though given in the imaginative form of a dialogue in 
Elysium, between Boileau and Pope, is believed to exhibit his own sentiments. 

" Boileau. Who is the poet that arrived soon after you in Elysium, whom I 
saw Spenser lead in and present to Virgil, as the author of a poem l'esembling 
the Georgics ? On his head was a garland of the several kinds of flowers that 
blow in each season, with evergreens intermixed. — Pope. Your description 
points out Thomson. He painted nature exactly, and with great strength of 
pencil. His imagination was rich, extensive, and sublime : his diction bold and 
glowing, but sometimes obscure and affected. Nor did he always know when to 
stop, or what to reject. — Boileau. I should suppose that he wrote tragedies 
upon the Greek model : for he is often admitted into the grove of Euripides. — 
Pope. He enjoys that distinction both as a tragedian and as a moralist. For, 
not only in his plays, but all his other works, there is the purest morality, 
animated by piety, and rendered more touching by the fine and delicate senti- 
ments of a most tender and benevolent heart." 

95 Herr F. Schlegel admits that Thomson is the prototype of continental de- 
scriptive poets. M nie Bontems much extended his fame by her prose translation 
of 1759. The other translations are enumerated by Ebert and Querard. 



xlii LIFE AND WRITINGS OF MR. JAMES THOMSON. 

[We cannot conclude without doing justice to Mr. Millar, who has 
spared no pains or expense to render this edition both beautiful and 
correct ; and generously dedicates what profits may arise from it 
to a funeral monument of his favourite author and much-loved 
friend. 96 ] 

96 This paragraph was written in 1762, and refers to an edition of the works 
of Thomson then published. It was therefore omitted in the edition of 1768 ; 
but I now restore it as a memorial of the generosity of Mr. Millar, and of his 
attachment to the author of The Seasons. The volumes are entitled : 

" The works of James Thomson, with his last corrections and improvements. 
To which is prefixed, an account of his life and writings. In two volumes. 
London: printed for A. Millar, in the Strand. 1762." 4to. Vol. I. Portrait 
after Aikman, and eight plates. Vol. II. Portrait after Paton, and six plates. 

This edition was published by subscription. It is dedicated to George III. 
by Patrick Murdoch; and contains the first impression of the memoir now 
adopted. His majesty subscribed one hundred pounds. The number of copies 
subscribed for was about three hundred and fifty. — The volumes are hand- 
somely printed ; but it appears, on collation, that six lines are omitted in The 
Seasons, and two stanzas in the Castle of indolence. It also appears, by the letter 
before cited, that the editor had made certain minor alterations in The Seasons. 

The monument to which Mr. Millar dedicated the profits arising from the 
above-mentioned edition was designed by Robert Adam, and executed by M. 
H. Spang. It is placed in the south transept of Westminster abbey. The 
inscription is : 

JAMES THOMSON. 

JEtatis 48. Obiit 27 August 1748. 
Tutor'd by thee, sweet poetry- exalts 
Her voice to ages ; and informs the page 
With music, image, sentiment, and thought, 
Never to die ! 



ODE 

ON 

THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON. 

BY WILLIAM COLLINS. 



TO 

GEORGE LYTTELTON, ESQ. 
Ef)tg ®&t 

IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. 



Advertisement. — The scene of the following stanzas is supposed to lie on the 
Thames, near Richmond. 



In yonder grave a druid lies, 

Where slowly winds the stealing wave ! 

The year's best sweets shall duteous rise 
To deck its poet's sylvan grave ! 

ii. 
In yon deep bed of whispering reeds 

His airy harp* shall now be laid, 
That he whose heart in sorrow bleeds 

May love through life the soothing shade. 

* The harp ofiEoLus, of which see a description in the Castle of indolence, [w\ c] 



xliv ODE ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON, 

III. 
Then maids and youths shall linger here, 

And while its sounds at distance swell, 
Shall sadly seem in pity's ear 

To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell. 

IV. 

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore 

When Thames in summer-wreaths is drest, 

And oft suspend the dashing oar 
To bid his gentle spirit rest ! 

v. 
And oft as ease and health retire 

To breezy lawn, or forest deep, 
The friend shall view yon whitening spire, * 

And 'mid the varied landscape weep. 

VI. 

But thou, who own'st that earthy bed, 
Ah ! what will every dirge avail ? 

Or tears, which love and pity shed, 
That mourn beneath the gliding sail ! 

VII. 

Yet lives there one whose heedless eye 

Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near ? 

With him, sweet bard, may fancy die, 
And joy desert the blooming year. 

* Richmond church. [w. c.J 



ODE ON THE DEATH OE MR. THOMSON. xlv 

VIII. 
But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide 

No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend, 
Now waft me from the green hill's side 
Whose cold turf hides the buried friend ! 

IX. 

And see — the fairy valleys fade, 

Dun night has veil'd the solemn view ! 
Yet once again, dear parted shade, 

Meek Nature's child, again adieu ! 



The genial meads assign'd to bless 

Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom ; 

Their hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress, 
With simple hands, thy rural tomb. 

XI. 

Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay 
Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes ; 

O vales, and wild woods ! shall he say, 
In yonder grave your druid lies! 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 




NO. 6DBJECIS. 


PAGE 


ARinrs. 


ENGRAVE RS. 


I. Engraved title -page 




Bell 


Vizetelly. 


2. Argument, Spring 


3. 


Rauch 


R. E. Branston. 


3. Spring - 


5. 


Bell 


T. Thompson. 


4. Agriculture and Commerce 


9. 


Stonhouse 


R.E. Branston 


5. Deer - 


11. 


Tayler 


Jackson. 


6. " Blazing straw," &c. - 


12. 


Ditto 


J. Thompson. 


7. " The stealing shower " 


15. 


Horsley 


Green. 


8. The Golden Age 


19. 


Redgrave 


R. E. Branston. 


9. Fly-fishing - 


27. 


Tayler 


Green. 


10. " Rosy-footed May " - 


31. 


Cope 


O. Smith. 


11. " The bowery walk" - 


33. 


Creswick 


Ditto. 


12. " Pendent o'er the plaintive stream ' 


' 39. 


Ditto 


Vizetelly. 


13. "A gentle pair " 


41. 


Redgrave 


Jackson. 


14. " The rural seat " 


46. 


Creswick 


Vizetelly. 


15. The "steed" - 


48. 


Tayler 


Ditto. 


16. Hagley Park - 


53. 


Ditto 


Ditto. 


17. The Lover - 


60. 


Horsley 


Jackson. 


18. "To teach the young idea " 


65. 


Webster & Redgrave Vizetelly. 


19. Tail-piece to Spring - 


67. 


Cope 


O. Smith. 


20. Argument, Summer 


69. 


Rauch 


R. E. Branston. 


21. Summer - ■ 


71- 


Bell 


Green. 


22. " The soon- clad shepherd" 


74. 


Tayler 


Vizetelly. 


23. The " pointed promontory's top " 


80. 


Creswick 


T. Williams. 


24. " The calm village " - 


83. 


Ditto 


A. Thompson. 


25. The " drowsy shepherd " 


86. 


Ditto 


J. Thompson. 


26. Haymaking - - - 


90. 


Cope 


O. Smith. 


27. Sheep-washing 


93. 


Tayler 


Vizetelly. 


28. " Rural confusion ! " - 


97- 


Ditto 


JR. E. Branston 
I and Green. 


29. " Angelic harps " 


100. 


Redgrave 


O. Smith. 


30. " An ample chair moss-lin'd" - 


104. 


Creswick 


J. Williamson. 


31. Nile and Nilometer 


113. 


Bell 


("Landells and 
I Bagg. 


32. Mother and Infant 


119. 


Stonhouse 


T. Williams. 


33. Pestilence - 


126. 


Bell 


Jackson. 


34. "The blasted cattle" - 


130. 


Creswick 


Bastin. 


35. Celadon and Amelia - 


132. 


Cope 


J. Thompson. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



NO. SUBJECTS. 

36. Musidora 

37. Richmond - 

38. The " hurried sailor " - 

39. Amphitrite - 

40. " The ruddy milkmaid " 

41. " Effulgence tremulous " 

42. " Ply the tough oar " - 

43. Argument, Autumn - 

44. Autumn - - 

45. The " tusky hoar " 

46. The Thames - 

47. " Each by the lass he loves " 

48. Lavinia - 

49. Shooting - 

50. Hare-hunting 

51. Stag hunt - • - 

52. " The strong table groans " 

53. " The mazy dance " - - . 

54. Nutting - 

55. "Vineyard - 

56. " Gathers his ovarious food " - 

57. The Woodman 

58. " The moon full-orb'd " 

59. " The fantastic blaze " 

60. " The cudgel rattles " 

61. "Prattling children" 

62. Argument, Winter ■• 

63. Winter 

64. " The cottage-hind " - 

65. " The soaring hern " - 

66. "Downhe sicks beneath the shape-] 

less drift" - - J 

67. "Ruddy fire and beaming tapers join 

68. The epic poets 

69. The ghost-story 

70. "The village dog ' 

71. Skating 

72. Rein-deer 

73. " See here thy pictur'd life " 

74. Luxury and Poverty - 

75. " The storms of wintry time " - 

76. Hymn - 

77. " Silence" •• ' 



PAGE. 

140. 
143. 
146 
154. 
157. 
159. 
164. 
167. 
169. 
172. 
175. 
177- 
181. 
188. 
191. 
193. 
196. 
201. 
202. 
206. 
215. 
220. 
225. 
229. 
231. 
240. 
243. 
245. 
249. 
252. 



ARIISTS. 

Horsley 

Creswick 

Townsend 

Bell 

Redgrave 

Ditto 

Ditto 
Rauch 
Bell 

Townsend 
Stonhouse 
Townsend 
Stone 
Tayler 

Ditto 

Ditto 
Cope 
Horsley 
Cope 

Ditto 
Redgrave 
Creswick 

Ditto 
Tayler 
Cope 
Redgrave 
Rauch 
Bell 

Townsend 
Tayler 



260. Ditto 



266. 


Knight 


271. 


Bell 


276. 


Horslev 


282. 


Tayler 


284. 


Stonhouse 


288. 


Tayler 


297. 


Cope 


299. 


Red grave 


300. 


Creswick 


303. 


Horsley 


300. 


Ditto 



E NORA VERS. 

J. Thompson. 

Jos. Williams. 

Landells. 

T. Williams. 

A. Thompson. 

Vizetelly. 

Green. 

R. E. Branston. 

F. Branston. 

Landells. 

Vizetelly. 

T. Thompson. 

Green. 

Bastin. 

T. Williams. 

Green. 

Vizetelly. 

J. Thompson. 

Green. 

T. Williams. 

Ditto. 
R. E. Branston. 
Thompson. 
Vizetelly. 
Green. 

Ditto. 
R. E. Branston. 
Jos. Williams. 
Vizetelly. 

Ditto. 

T. Thompson. 

Vizetelly. 

R. E. Branston. 

J. Thompson. 

Jos. Williams. 

Thompson. 

Landells. 

Green. 

Jos. Williams. 

O. Smith. 

A! Thompson. 

Thompson. 



the 



SEASONS. 



JAMES THOMSON. 



THE REVISED EDITION OF 1746. 



* " The Seasons. By James Thomson. London: printed Joy A. Millar, in the Strand. 
1746." 12mo. 

Dedication. " To His Royal Highness Frederic Prince of Wales, this poem, cor- 
rected and made less unworthy of his protection, is, with the utmost gratitude and 
veneration, inscribed, by His Royal Highness's most obedient and most devoted servant, 
James Thomson." 

Advertisement. " This poem having been published several years ago, and con- 
siderable additions made to it lately, some little anachronisms have thence arisen, which 
it is hoped the reader will excuse." 





The subject proposed. Inscribed to the Countess 
of Hertford. The Season is described as it affects 
the various parts of nature, ascending from the 
lower to the higher ; and mixed with digressions 
arising from the subject. Its influence on inani- 
mate matter, on vegetables, on brute animals, 
and last on man ; concluding with a dissuasive 
from the wild and irregular passion of love 
to that of a pure and happy kind. 




OMEj gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, come ; 
jST)) And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud, 
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower 
I fg Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. 

O Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts 
With unaffected grace, or walk the plain 
With innocence and meditation join'd 
In soft assemblage, listen to my song, 
Which thy own season paints ; when nature all 
Is blooming and benevolent, like thee. 



a 



\ 







SPRING. 

And see where surly Winter passes off, 
Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts : 
His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill, 
The shatter'd forest, and the ravag'd vale ; 
While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch, 
Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost, 
The mountains lift their green heads to the sky. 

As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd, 
And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze, 
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets 20 

Deform the day delightless ; so that scarce 
The bittern knows his time with bill ingulf 'd 
To shake the sounding marsh ; or, from the shore 
The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath, 
And sing their wild notes to the listening waste. 

At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun, 
And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more 
The expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold; 
But, full of life and vivifying soul, 
Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads them thin, 
Fleecy, and white, o'er all surrounding heaven. 31 

Forth fly the tepid airs ; and unconfin'd, 



SPRING. 

Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays. 

Joyous, the impatient husbandman perceives 

Relenting nature, and his lusty steers 

Drives from their stalls to where the well-us'd plough 

Lies in the furrow, loosen'd from the frost. 

There, unrefusing, to the harness'd yoke 

They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil, 

Cheer'd by the simple song and soaring lark. 40 

Meanwhile, incumbent o'er the shining share 

The master leans, removes the obstructing clay, 

Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the glebe. 

White, through the neighbouring fields the sower stalks 
With measur'd step ; and, liberal, throws the grain 
Into the faithful bosom of the ground : 
The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene. 

Be gracious, Heaven ! for now laborious man 
Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow ! 
Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend ! 50 

And temper all, thou world-reviving sun, 
Into the perfect year ! Nor ye who live 
In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride, 
Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear : 



SPKING. 

Such themes as these the rural Maro sung 

To wide-imperial Rome, in the full height 

Of elegance and taste, by Greece refin'd. 

In ancient times, the sacred plough employ'd 

The kings and awful fathers of mankind ; 

And some, with whom compar'd your insect tribes go 

Are but the beings of a summer's day, 

Have held the scale of empire, rul'd the storm 

Of mighty war, then with victorious hand, 

Disdaining little delicacies, seiz'd 

The plough, and greatly independent scorn'd 

All the vile stores corruption can bestow. 

Ye generous Britons, venerate the plough ! 
And o'er your hills and long withdrawing vales 
Let Autumn spread his treasures to the sun, 
Luxuriant and unbounded ! As the sea, 70 

Far through his azure turbulent domain, 
Your empire owns, and from a thousand shores 
Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports, 
So with superior boon may your rich soil, 
Exuberant, Nature's better blessings pour 
O'er every land, the naked nations clothe, 




And be the exhaustless granary of a world ! 
Nor only through the lenient air this change, 

Delicious, breathes: the penetrative sun, 

His force deep-darting to the dark retreat 

Of vegetation, sets the steaming power 

At large, to wander o'er the vernant earth, 

In various hues ; but chiefly thee, gay green ! s 

Thou smiling Nature's universal robe ! 

United light and shade ! where the sight dwells 

With growing strength, and ever-new delight. 




10 SPRING. 

From the moist meadow to the wither'd hill, 
Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs ; 
And swells, and deepens, to the cherish'd eye. 
The hawthorn whitens ; and the juicy groves 90 

Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees, 
Till the whole leafy forest stands display'cl, 
In full luxuriance, to the sighing gales ; 
Where the deer rustle through the twining brake, 
And the birds sing conceal'd. At once, array'd 
In all the colours of the flushing year 
By Nature's swift and secret-working hand, 
The garden glows, and fills the liberal air 
With lavish fragrance ; while the promis'd fruit 
Lies yet a little embryo, unperceiv'd, 100 

Within its crimson folds. Now from the town, 
Buried in smoke, and sleep, and noisome damps, 
Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields, 
Where freshness breathes, and dash the trembling drops 
From the bent bush, as through the verdant maze 
Of sweetbriar hedges I pursue my walk ; 
Or taste the smell of dairy ; or ascend 
Some eminence, Augusta, in thy plains, 



SPRING. 



11 




And see the country, far-difrus'd around, 

One boundless blush, one white-empurpled shower no 

Of mingled blossoms : where the raptur'd eye 

Hurries from joy to joy ; and, hid beneath 

The fair profusion, yellow Autumn spies. 

If, brush'd from Russian wilds, a cutting gale 
Rise not, and scatter from his humid wings 
The clammy mildew ; or, dry-blowing, breathe 
Untimely frost — before whose baleful blast 
The full-blown Spring through all her foliage shrinks, 
Joyless and dead, a wide-dejected waste. 



12 



SPRING. 



For oft, engender'd by the hazy north, 
Myriads on myriads, insect armies waft 
Keen in the poison'd breeze ; and wasteful eat, 
Through buds and bark, into the blacken'd core 
Their eager way. A feeble race ! yet oft 
The sacred sons of vengeance ! on whose course 
Corrosive famine waits, and kills the year. 
To check this plague, the skilful farmer chaff 
And blazing straw before his orchard burns — 
Till, all involv'd in smoke, the latent foe 
From every cranny suffocated falls ; 



120 



130 




SPRING. 13 

Or scatters o'er the blooms the pungent dust 
Of pepper, fatal to the frosty tribe ; 
Or, when the envenom'd leaf begins to curl, 
With sprinkled water drowns them in their nest : 
Nor, while they pick them up with busy bill, 
The little trooping birds unwisely scares. 

Be patient, swains ; these cruel-seeming winds 
Blow not in vain. Far hence they keep, repress'd, 
Those deepening clouds on clouds, surcharged with rain, 
That o'er the vast Atlantic hither borne, 140 

In endless train, would quench the summer blaze, 
And, cheerless, drown the crude unripen'd year. 

The north-east spends his rage, and now shut up 
Within his iron caves — the effusive south 
Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of heaven 
Breathes the big clouds with vernal showers distent. 
At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise, 
Scarce staining ether; but by fast degrees, 
In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour sails 
Along the loaded sky, and mingling deep, 150 

Sits on the horizon round a settled gloom : 
Not such as wintry storms on mortals shed, 



14 SPEING. 

Oppressing life ; but lovely, gentle, kind, 

And full of every hope and every joy, 

The wish of Nature. Gradual sinks the breeze 

Into a perfect calm ; that not a breath 

Is heard to quiver through the closing woods, 

Or rustling turn the many-twinkling leaves 

Of aspen tall. The uncurling floods, diflus'd 

In glassy breadth, seem through delusive lapse 160 

Forgetful of their course. 'Tis silence all, 

And pleasing expectation. ', Herds and flocks 

Drop the dry sprig, and, mute-imploring, eye 

The falling verdure. Hush'd in short suspense, 

The plumy people streak their wings with oil, 

To throw the lucid moisture trickling off; 

And wait the approaching sign to strike, at once, 

Into the general choir. Even mountains, vales, 

And forests seem, impatient, to demand 

The promis'd sweetness. Man superior walks 170 

Amid the glad creation, musing praise, 

And looking lively gratitude. At last, 

The clouds consign their treasures to the fields ; 

And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool 



SPRING. 



15 



Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow, 
In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world. 
The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard, 




By such as wander through the forest walks, 

Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves. 179 

But who can hold the shade, while Heaven descends 



16 SPUING. 

In universal bounty, shedding herbs, 
And fruits, and flowers, on Nature's ample lap ? 
Swift fancy fir'd anticipates their growth ; 
And, while the milky nutriment distils, 
Beholds the kindling country colour round. 

Thus all day long the full-distended clouds 
Indulge their genial stores, and well-shower'd earth 
Is deep-enrich'd with vegetable life ; 
Till, in the western sky, the downward sun 
Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush 190 

Of broken clouds, gay-shifting to his beam. 
The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes 
The illumin'd mountain ; through the forest streams ; 
Shakes on the floods ; and in a yellow mist, 
Far smoking o'er the interminable plain, 
In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems. 
Moist, bright, and green, the landscape laughs around. 
Full swell the woods ; their every music wakes, 
Mix'd in wild concert, with the warbling brooks 
Increas'd, the distant bleatings of the hills, 200 

The hollow lows responsive from the vales, 
Whence blending all the sweeten'd zephyr springs. 



SPRING. 17 

Meantime, refracted from yon eastern cloud, 

Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bow 

Shoots up immense ; and every hue unfolds, 

In fair proportion running from the red 

To where the violet fades into the sky. 

Here, awful Newton, the dissolving clouds 

Form, fronting on the sun, thy showery prism ; 

And to the sage-instructed eye unfold 210 

The various twine of light, by thee disclos'd 

From the white mingling maze. Not so the swain : 

He wondering views the bright enchantment bend, 

Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs 

To catch the falling glory ; but amaz'd 

Beholds the amusive arch before him fly, 

Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds, 

A soften'd shade ; and saturated earth 

Awaits the morning beam, to give to light, 

Rais'd through ten thousand different plastic tubes, 

The balmy treasures of the former day. 221 

Then spring the living herbs, profusely wild, 
O'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the power 
Of botanist to number up their tribes : 



18 SPRING. 

Whether he steals along the lonely dale, 

In silent search ; or through the forest, rank 

With what the dull incurious weeds account, 

Bursts his blind way ; or climbs the mountain rock, 

Fir'd by the nodding verdure of its brow. 

With such a liberal hand has Nature flung 230 

Their seeds abroad, blown them about in Avinds, 

Innumerous mix'd them with the nursing mould, 

The moistening current, and prolific rain. 

But who their virtues can declare ? who pierce, 
With vision pure, into these secret stores 
Of health, and life, and joy ? the food of man, 
While yet he liv'd in innocence, and told 
A length of golden years, unflesh'd in blood ; 
A stranger to the savage arts of li|e, 
Death, rapine, carnage, surfeit, and disease — 240 

The lord, and not the tyrant, of the world. 

The first fresh dawn then wak'd the gladden'd race 
Of uncorrupted man, nor blush'd to see 
The sluggard sleep beneath its sacred beam ; 
For their light slumbers gently fum'd away, 
And up they rose as vigorous as the sun, 




Or to the culture of the willing glebe, 

Or to the cheerful tendance of the flock. 

Meantime the song went round ; and dance and sport, 

Wisdom and friendly talk, successive stole 

Their hours away : while in the rosy vale 

Love breath'd his infant sighs, from anguish free, 

And full replete with bliss ; save the sweet pain 

That, inly thrilling, but exalts it more. 

Nor yet injurious act, nor surly deed, 

Was known among these happy sons of heaven ; 



20 SPRING. 

For reason and benevolence were law. 

Harmonious Nature too look'd smiling on. 

Clear shone the skies, cool'd with eternal gales, 

And balmy spirit all. The youthful sun 260 

Shot his best rays, and still the gracious clouds 

Dropp'd fatness down ; as, o'er the swelling mead, 

The herds and flocks, commixing, play'd secure. 

This when, emergent from the gloomy wood, 

The glaring lion saw, his horrid heart 

Was meeken'd, and he join'd his sullen joy ; 

For music held the whole in perfect peace : 

Soft sigh'd the flute; the tender voice was heard, 

Warbling the varied heart ; the woodlands round 

Applied their quire ; and winds and waters flow'd 270 

In consonance. Such were those prime of days. 

But now those white unblemish'd minutes, whence 
The fabling poets took their golden age, 
Are found no more amid these iron times, 
These dregs of life ! Now the distemper'd mind 
/ Has lost that concord of harmonious powers,/ 
Which forms the soul of happiness ; and all 
Is off the poise within : the passions all 



SPRING. 21 

Have burst their bounds ; and reason half-extinct, 
Or impotent, or else approving, sees 280 

The foul disorder. Senseless and deform'd, 
Convulsive anger storms at large ; or, pale 
And silent, settles into fell revenge. 
' Base envy withers at another's joy, 
And hates that excellence it cannot reach) 
Desponding fear, of feeble fancies full, 
Weak and unmanly, loosens every power. 
Even love itself is bitterness of soul, 
A pensive anguish pining at the heart ;, 
Or, sunk to sordid interest, feels no more 290 

That noble wish, that never-cloy'd desire, 
Which, selfish joy disdaining, seeks alone 
To bless the dearer object of its flame. 
Hope sickens with extravagance ; and grief, 
Of life impatient, into madness swells, 
Or in dead silence wastes the weeping hours. 
These, and a thousand mix'cl emotions more, 
From ever-changing views of good and ill, 
Form'd infinitely various, vex the mind 299 

With endless storm ; whence, deeply rankling, grows 



22 SPRING. 

The partial thought, a listless unconcern, 

Cold, and averting from our neighbour's good : 

Then dark disgust, and hatred, winding wiles, 

Coward deceit, and ruffian violence. 

At last, extinct each social feeling, fell 

And joyless inhumanity pervades 

And petrifies the heart. Nature disturb'd 

Is deem'd, vindictive, to have chang'd her course. 

Hence, in old dusky time, a deluge came : 
When the deep-cleft disparting orb, that arch'd 3io 

The central waters round, impetuous rush'd, 
With universal burst, into the gulf, 
And o'er the high-pil'd hills of fractur'd earth 
Wide-dash'd the waves, in undulation vast ; 
Till, from the centre to the streaming clouds, 
A shoreless ocean tumbled round the globe. 

The Seasons since have, with severer sway, 
Oppress'd a broken world : the Winter keen 
Shook forth his waste of snows ; and Summer shot 



His pestilential heats. Great Spring, before, 320 

Green'd all the year ; /and fruits and blossoms blush'd, 
In social sweetness, on the self-same bough. 



SPRING. 23 

Pure was the temperate air ; an even calm 
Perpetual reign'd, save what the zephyrs bland 
Breath'd o'er the blue expanse : for then nor storms 
Were taught to blow, nor hurricanes to rage ; 
Sound slept the waters ; no sulphureous glooms 
Swell'd in the sky, and sent the lightning forth ; 
While sickly damps, and cold autumnal fogs, 
Hung not, relaxing, on the springs of life. 330 

But now, of turbid elements the sport, 
From clear to cloudy toss'd, from hot to cold, 
And dry to moist, with inward-eating change, 
Our drooping days are dwindled down to nought, 
Their period finish'd ere 'tis well begun. 

And yet the wholesome herb neglected dies ; 
Though with the pure exhilarating soul 
Of nutriment, and health, and vital powers, 
Beyond the search of art, 'tis copious blest. 
For, with hot ravin fir'd, ensanguin'd man 340 

Is now become the lion of the plain, 
And worse. The wolf, who from the nightly fold 
Fierce-drags the bleating prey, ne'er drunk her milk, 
Nor wore her warming fleece ; nor has the steer, 



24 SPRING. 

At whose strong chest the deadly tiger hangs, 

E'er plough'd for him. They too are temper'd high, 

With hunger stung and wild necessity ; 

Nor lodges pity in their shaggy breast. 

But man, whom Nature form'd of milder clay, 

With every kind emotion in his heart, 350 

And taught alone to weep — while from her lap 

She pours ten thousand delicacies, herbs, 

And fruits, as numerous as the drops of rain 

Or beams that gave them birth — shall he, fair form ! 

Who wears sweet smiles, and looks erect on heaven, 

E'er stoop to mingle with the prowling herd, 

And dip his tongue in gore ? The beast of prey, 

Blood-stain'd deserves to bleed ; but you, ye flocks, 

What have you done ? ye peaceful people, what, 

To merit death ? you, who have given us milk 360 

In luscious streams, and lent us your own coat 

Against the Winter's cold ? And the plain ox, 

That harmless, honest, guileless animal, 

In what has he offended? he, whose toil, 

Patient and ever-ready, clothes the land 

With all the pomp of harvest — shall he bleed, 



SPRING. 25 

And struggling groan beneath the cruel hands 

Even of the clowns he feeds ? and that, perhaps, 

To swell the riot of the autumnal feast, 

Won by his labour ? This the feeling heart 370 

Would tenderly suggest ; but 'tis enough, 

In this late age, adventurous, to have touch'd 

Light on the numbers of the Samian sage. 

High Heaven forbids the bold presumptuous strain, 

Whose wisest will has fix'd us in a state 

That must not yet to pure perfection rise : 

Besides, who knows, how rais'd to higher life, 

From stage to stage, the vital scale ascends ? 

Now, when the first foul torrent of the brooks, 
Swell'd with the vernal rains, is ebb'd away — 380 

And, whitening, down their mossy-tinctur'd stream 
Descends the billowy foam — now is the time, 
While yet the dark brown water aids the guile, 
To tempt the trout. The well-dissembled fly, 
The rod fine-tapering with elastic spring, 
Snatch'd from the hoary steed the floating line, 
And all thy slender watery stores, prepare. 
But let not on thy hook the tortur'd worm, 



26 SPRING. 



Convulsive, twist in agonising folds 



Which, by rapacious hunger swallow'd deep, 390 

Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breast 
Of the weak, helpless, uncomplaining wretch, 
Harsh pain and horror to the tender hand. 

When, with his lively ray, the potent sun 
Has pierc'd the streams, and rous'd the finny race, 
Then, issuing cheerful, to thy sport repair; 
Chief should the western breezes curling play, 
And light o'er ether bear the shadowy clouds. 
High to their fount, this day, amid the hills, 
And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brooks ; 
The next, pursue their rocky-channell'd maze, 401 

Down to the river, in whose ample wa^ve 
Their little naiads love to sport at large. 
Just in the dubious point, where with the pool 
Is mix'd the trembling stream, or where it boils 
Around the stone, or from the hollow'd bank 
Reverted plays in undulating flow, 
There throw, nice-judging, the delusive fly ; 
And, as you lead it round in artful curve, 
With eye attentive mark the springing game. 410 




Straight as above the surface of the flood 

They wanton rise, or urg'd by hunger leap, 

Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook ; 

Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank, 

And to the shelving shore slow-dragging some, 

With various hand proportion'd to their force. 

If yet too young, and easily deceiv'd, 

A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod, ^^ 

Him, piteous of liis youth, and the short space 

He has enjoy'd the vital light of heaven, 

■ ff A 




28 SPRING. 

Soft disengage, and back into the stream 

The speckled infant throw. Bnt should you lure 

From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots 

Of pendent trees, the monarch of the brook, 

Behoves you then to ply your finest art. 

Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly ; 

And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft 

The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear. 

At last, while haply o'er the shaded sun 

Passes a cloud, he desperate takes the death, 430 

With sullen plunge. At once he darts along, 

Deep-struck, and runs out all the lengthen'd line ; 

Then seeks the farthest ooze, the sheltering weed, 

The cavern'd bank, his old secure abode ; 

And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool, 

Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand, 

That feels him still, yet to his furious course 

Gives way, you, now retiring, following now 

Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage ; 

Till, floating broad upon his breathless side, 440 

And to his fate abandon'd, to the shore 

You gaily drag your unresisting prize. 



SPRING. 29 

Thus pass the temperate hours : but when the sun 
Shakes from his noonday throne the scattering clouds, 
Even shooting listless languor through the deeps, 
Then seek the bank where flowering elders crowd, 
Where scatter'd wild the lily of the vale 
Its balmy essence breathes, where cowslips hang 
The dewy head, where purple violets lurk, 
With all the lowly children of the shade ; 450 

Or lie reclin'd beneath yon spreading ash 
Hung o'er the steep, whence borne on liquid wing 
The sounding culver shoots ; or where the hawk 
High in the beetling cliff his eyry builds. 
There let the classic page thy fancy lead 
Through rural scenes, such as the Mantuan swain 
Paints in the matchless harmony of song ; 
Or catch thyself the landscape, gliding swift 
Athwart imagination's vivid eye ; 

Or, by the vocal woods and waters lull'd, 460 

And lost in lonely musing, in a dream, 
Confus'd, of careless solitude, where mix 
Ten thousand wandering images of things, 
Soothe every gust of passion into peace — 



30 SPRING. 

All but the swellings of the soften'd heart, 
That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind. 

Behold, yon breathing prospect bids the muse 
Throw all her beauty forth. But who can paint 
Like Nature ? Can imagination boast, 
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers ? 47 o 

Or can it mix them with that matchless skill, 
And lose them in each other, as appears 
In every bud that blows ? If fancy, then, 
Unequal fails beneath the pleasing task, 
Ah, what shall language do ? ah, where find words 
Ting'd with so many colours ; and whose power, 
To life approaching, may perfume my lays 
With that fine oil, those aromatic gales, 
That inexhaustive flow continual round ? 

Yet, though successless, will the toil delight. 480 

Come then, ye virgins and ye youths whose hearts 
Have felt the raptures of refining love ; 
And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my song ! 
Form'd by the graces, loveliness itself! 
Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet, 
Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul — - 




Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd, si 
Shines lively fancy, and the feeling heart : 
Oh come ! and while the rosy-footed May 
Steals blushing on, together let us tread 
The morning dews, and gather in their prime 
Fresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair, 
And thy lov'd bosom that improves their sweets. 





32 SPEING. 

See, where the winding vale its lavish stores, 
Irriguous, spreads. See, how the lily drinks 
The latent rill, scarce oozing through the grass, 
Of growth luxuriant ; or the humid bank, 
In fair profusion, decks. Long let us walk, 
Where the breeze blows from yon extended field 
Of blossom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast 500 

A fuller gale of joy than, liberal, thence 
Breathes through the sense, and takes the ravish'd soul. 
Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot, 
Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers, 
The negligence of Nature, wide and wild ; 
Where, undisguis'd by mimic art, she spreads 
Unbounded beauty to the roving eye. 
Here their delicious task the fervent bees, 
In swarming millions, tend : around, athwart, 
Through the soft air the busy nations fly, 510 

Cling to the bud, and with inserted tube 
Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul ; 
And oft, with bolder wing, they soaring dare 
The purple heath, or where the wild-thyme grows, 
And yellow load them with the luscious spoil. 



SPRING. 



33 



-T-^N 




At length the finish'd garden to the view 
Its vistas opens, and its alleys green. 
Snatch'd through the verdant maze, the hurried eye 
Distracted wanders : now the bowery walk 
Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day 
Falls on the lengthen'd gloom, protracted sweeps ; 
Now meets the bending sky ; the river now 
Dimpling along, the breezy-ruffled lake, 
The forest darkening round, the glittering spire, 
The ethereal mountain, and the distant main. 
But why so far excursive ? when at hand, 
Along these blushing borders, bright with dew, 



520 



34 SPKING. 

And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers, 

Fair-handed Spring unbosoms every grace : 

Throws out the snowdrop and the crocus first ; 530 

The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue, 

And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes ; 

The yellow wallflower, stain'd with iron-brown ; 

And lavish stock that scents the garden round ; 

From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed, 

Anemonies ; auriculas, enrich'd 

With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves ; 

And full ranunculus', of glowing red. 

Then comes the tulip-race, where beauty plays 

Her idle freaks : from family diflus'd 540 

To family, as flies the father-dust, 

The varied colours run; and, while they break 

On the charm'd eye, the exulting florist marks, 

With secret pride, the wonders of his hand. 

No gradual bloom is wanting ; from the bud, 

First-born of Spring, to Summer's musky tribes : 

Nor hyacinths, of purest virgin- white, 

Low-bent, and blushing inward ; nor jonquils, 

Of potent fragrance ; nor narcissus fair, 



SPRING. 



35 



As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still ; 550 

Nor broad carnations ; nor gay-spotted pinks ; 

Nor, shower'cl from every bush, the darnask-rose. 

Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells, 

With hues on hues expression cannot paint, 

The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom. 

Hail, Source of Beings ! Universal Soul 
Of heaven and earth ! Essential Presence, hail ! 
To thee I bencl the knee ; to thee my thoughts, 
Continual, climb ; who, with a master-hand, 
Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd. 560 

By thee the various vegetative tribes, 
Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves, 
Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew. 
By thee dispos'd into congenial soils, 
Stands each attractive plant, and sucks, and swells 
The juicy tide ; a twining mass of tubes. 
At thy command the vernal sun awakes 
The torpid sap, detruded to the root 
By wintry winds, that now in fluent dance, 
And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads 570 

All this innumerous-colour'd scene of things. 



36 SPRING. 

As rising from the vegetable world 
My theme ascends, with equal wing ascend, 
My panting muse ; and hark, how loud the woods 
Invite you forth in all your gayest trim. 
Lend me your song, ye nightingales ! oh pour 
The mazy-running soul of melody 
Into my varied verse ! while I deduce, ^J r 

From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, 
The symphony of Spring, and touch a theme 580 

Unknown to fame — the passion of the groves. 

When first the soul of love is sent abroad, 
Warm through the vital air, and on the heart 
Harmonious seizes, the gay troops begin, 
In gallant thought, to plume the painted wing; 
And try again the long-forgotten strain, 
At first faint-warbled. But no sooner grows 
The soft infusion prevalent, and wide, 
Than, all alive, at once their joy o'er flows 
In music unconfin'd. Up springs the lark, 590 

Shrill-voic'd and loud, the messenger of morn : 
Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings 
Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts 



SPRING. 37 

Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copse 

Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush 

Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads 

Of the coy quiristers that lodge within, 

Are prodigal of harmony. The thrush 

And woodlark, o'er the kind contending throng 

Superior heard, run through the sweetest length 600 

Of notes ; when listening philomela deigns 

To let them joy, and purposes, in thought 

Elate, to make her night excel their day. 

The blackbird whistles from the thorny brake ; 

The mellow bullfinch answers from the grove ; 

Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze 

Pour'd out profusely, silent : join'd to these 

Innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade 

Of new-sprung leaves, their modulations mix 

Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw, 6io 

And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone, 

Aid the full concert ; while the stockdove breathes 

A melancholy murmur through the whole. 

'Tis love creates their melody, and all 
This waste of music is the voice of love ; 



38 SPRING. 

That even to birds and beasts the tender arts 

Of pleasing teaches. Hence the glossy kind 

Try every winning way inventive love 

Can dictate., and in courtship to their mates 

Pour forth their little souls. First, wide around, 620 

With distant awe, in airy rings they rove, 

Endeavouring by a thousand tricks to catch 

The cunning, conscious, half-averted glance 

Of their regardless charmer. Should she seem, 

Softening, the least approvance to bestow, 

Their colours burnish, and, by hope inspir'd, 

They brisk advance ; then, on a sudden struck, 

Retire disorder'd ; then again approach ; 

In fond rotation spread the spotted wing, 

And shiver every feather with desire. 630 

Connubial leagues agreed, to the deep woods 
They haste away, all as their fancy leads, 
Pleasure, or food, or secret safety prompts ; 
That Nature's great command may be obey'd, 
Nor all the sweet sensations they perceive 
Indulg'd in vain. Some to the holly-hedge 
Nestling repair, and to the thicket some ; 



SPKING. 39 

Some to the rude protection of the thorn 

Commit their feeble offspring. The cleft tree 

Offers its kind concealment to a few, 640 

Their food its insects, and its moss their nests. 

Others, apart, far in the grassy dale, 

Or roughening waste, their humble texture weave. 

But most in woodland solitudes delight, 

In unfrequented glooms, or shaggy banks, 

Steep, and divided by a babbling brook, 

Whose murmurs soothe them all the livelong day, 

When by kind duty fix'cl. Among the roots 

Of hazel, pendent o'er the plaintive stream, 

They frame the first foundation of their domes ; 650 

Dry sprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid, 

And bound with clay together. Now 'tis nought 

But restless hurry through the busy air, 




HP 



40 SPRING. 

Beat by unnumber'd wings. The swallow sweeps 
The slimy pool, to build his hanging house 
Intent. And often, from the careless back 
Of herds and flocks, a thousand tugging bills 
Pluck hair and wool ; and oft, when unobserv'd, 
Steal from the barn a straw : till soft and warm, 
Clean and complete, their habitation grows. 660 

As thus the patient dam assiduous sits, 
Not to be tempted from her tender task, 
Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight, 
Though the whole loosen'd Spring around her blows, 
Her sympathising lover takes his stand 
High on the opponent bank, and ceaseless sings 
The tedious time away ; or else supplies 
Her place a moment, while she sudden flits 
To pick the scanty meal. The appointed time 
With pious toil fulfill'd, the callow young, 670 

Warm'd and expanded into perfect life, 
Their brittle bondage break, and come to light ; 
A helpless family, demanding food 
With constant clamour. Oh, what passions then, 
What melting sentiments of kindly care, 



42 SPRING. 

Sustain'd alone by providential Heaven, 
Oft, as they weeping eye their infant train, 
Check their own appetites and give them all. 

Nor toil alone they scorn : exalting love, 
By the great Father of the Spring inspir'd, 
Gives instant courage to the fearful race, 
And to the simple, art. With stealthy wing, 690 

Should some rude foot their woody haunts molest, 
Amid a neighbouring bush they silent drop, 
And whirring thence, as if alarm'd, deceive 
The unfeeling schoolboy. Hence, around the head 
Of wandering swain, the white- wing'd plover wheels 
Her sounding flight, and then directly on 
In long excursion skims the level lawn, 
To tempt him from her nest. The wild-duck, hence, 
O'er the rough moss, and o'er the trackless waste 
The heath-hen flutters, pious fraud ! to lead 700 

The hot pursuing spaniel far astray. 

Be not the muse asham'd here to bemoan 
Her brothers of the grove, by tyrant man 
Inhuman caught, and in the narrow cage 
From liberty confin'd, and boundless air. 



SPRING. 43 

Dull are the pretty slaves, their plumage dull, 
Ragged, and all its brightening lustre lost ; 
Nor is that sprightly wildness in their notes, 
Which, clear and vigorous, warbles from the beech. 
Oh then, ye friends of love and love-taught song, 710 
Spare the soft tribes, this barbarous art forbear ! 
If on your bosom innocence can win, 
Music engage, or piety persuade* 

But let not chief the nightingale lament 
Her ruin'd care, too delicately fram'd 
To brook the harsh confinement of the cage. 
Oft when, returning with her loaded bill, 
The astonish'd mother finds a vacant nest, 
By the hard hand of unrelenting clowns 
Eobb'd, to the ground the vain provision falls ; 720 

Her pinions ruffle, and, low-drooping, scarce 
Can bear the mourner to the poplar shade, 
Where all abandon'd to despair she sings 
Her sorrows through the night ; and, on the bough 
Sole-sitting, still at every dying fall 
Takes up again her lamentable strain 
Of winding woe, till wide around the woods 



44 SPKING. 

Sigh to her song, and with her wail resound. 

But now the feather'd youth their former bounds, 
Ardent, disdain ; and, weighing oft their wings, 730 

Demand the free possession of the sky. 
This one glad office more, and then dissolves 
Parental love at once, now needless grown : . 
Unlavish Wisdom never works in vain. 
'Tis on some evening, sunny, grateful, mild, 
When nought but balm is breathing through the woods, 
With yellow lustre bright, that the new tribes 
Visit the spacious heavens, and look abroad 
On Nature's common, far as they can see 
Or wing their range and pasture. O'er the boughs 
Dancing about, still at the giddy verge 741 

Their resolution fails — their pinions still, 
In loose libration stretch'd, to trust the void 
Trembling refuse — till down before them fly 
The parent guides, and chide, exhort, command, 
Or push them off. The surging air receives 
The plumy burden ; and their self-taught wings 
Winnow the waving element. On ground 
Alighted, bolder up again they lead, 



SPKING. 45 

Farther and farther on, the lengthening flight ; 750 

Till, vanish'd every fgar, and every power 
Rous'd into life and action, light in air 
The acquitted parents see their soaring race, 
And, once rejoicing, never know them more. 

High from the summit of a craggy cliff, 
Hung o'er the deep, such as amazing frowns 
On utmost Kilda's 1 shore, whose lonely race 
Resign the setting sun to Indian worlds, 
The royal eagle draws his vigorous young ; 
Strong-pounc'd, and ardent with paternal fire. 760 

Now fit to raise a kingdom of their own, 
He drives them from his fort, the towering seat, y 
For ages, of his empire ; which, in peace, 
Unstain'd he holds, while many a league to sea 
He wings his course, and preys in distant isles. 

Should I my steps turn to the rural seat, 
Whose lofty elms and venerable oaks 
Invite the rook, who high amid the boughs, 
In early Spring, his airy city builds, 
And ceaseless caws amusive — there, well-pleas'd, 770 
I might the various polity survey 



SPRING. 47 

And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet 780 

Bears forward fierce, and guards his osier-isle, 

Protective of his young. The turkey nigh, 

Loud-threatening, reddens ; while the peacock spreads 

His every-colour'd glory to the sun, 

And swims in radiant majesty along. 

O'er the whole homely scene, the cooing dove 

Flies thick in amorous chase, and wanton rolls 

The glancing eye, and turns the changeful neck. 

While thus the gentle tenants of the shade 
Indulge their purer loves, the rougher world 790 

Of brutes, below, rush furious into flame 
And fierce desire. Through all his lusty veins 
The bull, deep-scorch'd, the raging passion feels. 
Of pasture sick, and negligent of food, 
Scarce seen, he wades among the yellow broom, 
While o'er his ample sides the rambling sprays 
Luxuriant shoot ; or through the mazy wood 
Dejected wanders, nor the enticing bud 
Crops, though it presses on his careless sense. 
And oft, in jealous maddening fancy wrapt, soo 

He seeks the fight ; and, idly butting, feigns 



48 



SPRING. 



His rival gor'd in every knotty trunk. 

Him should he meet, the bellowing war begins : 

Their eyes flash fury ; to the hollow'd earth, 

Whence the sand flies, they mutter bloody deeds, 

And groaning deep the impetuous battle mix ; 

While the fair heifer, balmy-breathing, near, 

Stands kindling up their rage. The trembling steed, 

With this hot impulse seiz'd in every nerve, 

Nor hears the rein, nor heeds the sounding thong : 8io 

Blows are not felt ; but, tossing high his head, 




SPUING. 49 

And by the well-known joy to distant plains 

Attracted strong, all wild he bursts away ; 

O'er rocks, and woods, and craggy mountains flies ; 

And, neighing, on the aerial summit takes 

The exciting gale ; then, steep-descending, cleaves 

The headlong torrents foaming down the hills, 

Even where the madness of the straiten'd stream 

Turns in black eddies round — such is the force 

With which his frantic heart and sinews swell. 820 

Nor undelighted by the boundless Spring 
Are the broad monsters of the foaming deep : 
From the deep ooze and gelid cavern rous'd, 
They flounce and tumble in unwieldy joy. 
Dire were the strain, and dissonant, to sing 
The cruel raptures of the savage kind ; 
How, by this flame their native wrath sublim'd, 
They roam, amid the fury of their heart, 
The far-resounding waste in fiercer bands, 
And growl their horrid loves. But this, the theme 
I sing, enraptur'd, to the British fair, 831 

Forbids ; and leads me to the mountain brow, 
Where sits the shepherd on the grassy turf, 



50 SPRING. 

Inhaling, healthful, the descending sun. 

Around him feeds his many-bleating flock, 

Of various cadence ; and his sportive lambs, 

This way and that convolv'd, in friskful glee, 

Their frolics play. And now the sprightly race 

Invites them forth ; when swift, the signal given, 

They start away, and sweep the massy mound 840 

That runs around the hill ; the rampart once 

Of iron war, in ancient barbarous times, 

When disunited Britain ever bled, 

Lost in eternal broil : ere yet she grew 

To this deep-laid indissoluble state, 

Where wealth and commerce lift the golden head ; 

And, o'er our labours, liberty and law 

Impartial watch- — the wonder of a world ! 

What is this mighty breath, ye curious, say, 
That, in a powerful language, felt not heard, 850 

Instructs the fowls of heaven ; and through their breast 
These arts of love diffuses ? What, but God ? 
Inspiring God ! who, boundless spirit all, 
And unremitting energy, pervades, 
Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole. 



SPRING. 51 

He ceaseless works alone, and yet alone 

Seems not to work ; with such perfection fram'd 

Is this complex stupendous scheme of things. 

But, though conceal'd, to every purer eye 

The informing Author in his works appears : 860 

Chief, lovely Spring, in thee, and thy soft scenes, 

The Smiling God is seen ; while water, earth, 

And air attest his bounty — which exalts 

The brute creation to this finer thought, 

And annual melts their undesigning hearts 

Profusely thus in tenderness and joy. 
Still let my song a nobler note assume, 

And sing the infusive force of Spring on man ; 

When heaven and earth, as if contending, vie 

To raise his being, and serene his soul. 870 

Can he forbear to join the general smile 
) Of Nature ? can fierce passions vex his breast, 

While every gale is peace, and every grove 
• Is melody ? Hence ! from the bounteous walks 

Of flowing Spring, ye sordid sons of earth, 

Hard, and unfeeling of another's woe, 

Or only lavish to yourselves ; away ! 



52 SPRING. 

But come, ye generous minds, in whose wide thought, 

Of all his works, creative bounty burns 

With warmest beam ; and on your open front 880 

And liberal eye sits, from his dark retreat 

Inviting modest want. Nor till invok'd 

Can restless goodness wait : your active search 

Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplor'd ; 

Like silent-working Heaven, surprising oft 

The lonely heart with unexpected good. 

For you the roving spirit of the wind 

Blows Spring abroad ; for you the teeming clouds 

Descend in gladsome plenty o'er the world ; 

And the sun sheds his kindest rays for you, 890 

Ye flower of human race ! In these green days, 

Reviving sickness lifts her languid head ; 

Life flows afresh ; and young-ey'd health exalts 

The whole creation round. Contentment walks 

The sunny glade, and feels an inward bliss 

Spring o'er his mind, beyond the power of kings 

To purchase. Pure serenity apace 

Induces thought, and contemplation still. 

By swift degrees the love of nature works, 





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And warms the bosom ; till at last, sublim'd 
To rapture and enthusiastic heat, 
We feel the present Deity, and taste 
The joy of God to see a happy world ! 

These are the sacred feelings of thy heart 
Thy heart inform'd by reason's purer ray, 
O Lyttelton, the friend ! thy passions thus 
And meditations vary, as at large, 
Courting the muse, through Hagley Park you stray ; 
Thy British Tempe ! There along the dale, 
With woods o'erhung, and shagg'd with mossy rocks, 
Whence on each hand the gushing waters play, 
And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall, 





54 SPRING. 

Or gleam in lengthen'd vista through the trees, 

You silent steal ; or sit beneath the shade 

Of solemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts 

Thrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand, 

And pensive listen to the various voice 

Of rural peace : the herds, the flocks, the birds, 

The hollow- whispering breeze, the plaint of rills, 

That, purling down amid the twisted roots 920 

Which creep around, their dewy murmurs shake 

On the sooth'd ear. From these abstracted oft, 

You wander through the philosophic world ; 

Where in bright train continual wonders rise, 

Or to the curious or the pious eye. 

And oft, conducted by historic truth, 

You tread the long extent of backward time : 

Planning, with warm benevolence of mind, 

And honest zeal unwarp'd by party rage, 

Britannia's weal ; how from the venal gulf 930 

To raise her virtue, and her arts revive. 

Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thoughts 

The muses charm ; while, with sure taste refin'd, 

You draw the inspiring breath of ancient song, 



SPRING. 55 

Till nobly rises, emulous, thy own. 
(JRerhaps thy lov'd Lucinda shares thy walk, 
With soul to thine attun'd. Then nature all 
Wears to the lover's eye a look of love ; 
And all the tumult of a guilty world, 
Toss'd by ungenerous passions, sinks away. 940 

The tender heart is animated peace ; 
And as it pours its copious treasures forth, 
In varied converse, softening every theme, 
You, frequent-pausing, turn, and from her eyes, 
Where meeken'd sense, and amiable grace, 
And lively sweetness dwell, enraptur'd drink / 
That nameless spirit of ethereal joy, 
Inimitable happiness ! which love 
Alone bestows, and on & favoured few. 
Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair brow 
The bursting prospect spreads immense around; 951 

And snatch'd o'er hill and dale, and wood and lawn, 
And verdant field, and darkening heath between, 
And villages embosom'd soft in trees, 
And spiry towns by surging columns mark'd 
Of household smoke, your eye excursive roams ; 



56 SPRING. 

Wide-stretching from the hall, in whose kind haunt 
The hospitable genius lingers still, 
To where the broken landscape, by degrees 
Ascending, roughens into rigid hills — 960 

O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds 
That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise. 

Flush'd by the spirit of the genial year, 
Now from the virgin's cheek a fresher bloom 

* Shoots, less and less, the live carnation round; 

Her lips blush deeper sweets ; she breathes of youth ; 
The shining moisture swells into her eyes 

"•■ In brighter flow; her wishing bosom heaves 
With palpitations wild ; kind tumults seize 
Her veins, and all her yielding soul is love. 970 

From the keen gaze her lover turns away, 
Full of the dear ecstatic power, and sick 
With sighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair ! 
Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts : 
Dare not the infectious sigh ; the pleading look, 
Downcast and low, in meek submission drest, 
But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue, 
Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth, 



SPRING. 57 

Gain on your purpos'd will. Nor in the bower, 
Where woodbines flaunt and roses shed a couch, 980 

While evening draws her crimson curtains round, 
Trust your soft minutes with betraying man. 

And let the aspiring youth beware of love, 
Of the smooth glance beware ; for 'tis too late, 
When on his heart the torrent-softness pours. 
Then wisdom prostrate lies, and fading fame 
Dissolves in air away ; while the fond soul, 
Wrapt in gay visions of unreal bliss, 
Still paints the illusive form, the kindling grace, 
The enticing smile, the modest-seeming eye, 990 

Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying heaven, 
Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death ; 
And still, false-warbling in his cheated ear, 
Her siren voice, enchanting, draws him on 
To guileful shores, and meads of fatal joy. 

Even present, in the very lap of love 
Inglorious laid — while music flows around, 
Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours — 
Amid the roses, fierce repentance rears 
Her snaky crest : a quick-returning pang 1000 



58 SPRING. 

Shoots through the conscious heart ; where honour still, 
And great design, against the oppressive load 
Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave. 

But absent, what fantastic woes, arous'd, 
Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed, 
Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life ! 
Neglected fortune flies ; and, sliding swift, 
Prone into ruin fall his scorn'd affairs. 
'Tis nought but gloom around. The darken'd sun 
Loses his light. (The rosy-bosom'd Spring 1010 

_/ To weeping fancy pines ; )and yon bright arch, 
Contracted, bends into a dusky vault. 
All nature fades extinct ; and she alone 
Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought, 
Fills every sense, and pants in every vein. 
Books are but formal dulness, tedious friends ; 
And sad amid the social band he sits, 
Lonely and unattentive. From the tongue 
The unfinish'd period /alls : while, borne away 
On swelling thought, his wafted spirit flies 1020 

To the vain bosom of his distant fair ; 
And leaves the semblance of a lover, fix'd 



SPRING. 59 

In melancholy site, with head declin'd, 

And love-deject eel eyes. Sudden he starts, 

Shook from his tender trance, and restless runs 

To glimmering shades and sympathetic glooms, 

Where the dun umbrage o'er the falling stream, 

Romantic, hangs ; there through the pensive dusk 

Strays, in heart-thrilling meditation lost, 

Indulging all to love ; or on the bank 1030 

Thrown, amid drooping lilies, swells the breeze 

With sighs unceasing, and the brook with tears. 

Thus in soft anguish he consumes the day ; 

Nor quits his deep retirement, till the moon 

Peeps through the chambers of the fleecy east, 

Enlighten'd by degrees, and in her train 

Leads on the gentle hours ; then forth he walks, 

Beneath the trembling languish of her beam, 

With soften'd soul, and woos the bird of eve 

To mingle woes with his ; or, while the world 1040. 

And all the sons of care lie hush'd in sleep, 

Associates with the midnight shadows drear ; 

And, sighing to the lonely taper, pours 

His idly tortur'd heart into the page 



SPRING. 61 

Exhausted nature sinks awhile to rest, 



Still interrupted by distracted dreams, 

That o'er the sick imagination rise 

And in black colours paint the mimic scene. 

Oft with the enchantress of his soul he talks ; 

Sometimes in crowds distress'd ; or if retir'd 

To secret-winding flower-enwoven bowers, 

Far from the dull impertinence of man, 1060 

Just as he, credulous, his endless cares 

Begins to lose in blind oblivious love, 

Snatch'd from her yielded hand, he knows not how, 

Through forests huge, and long untravell'd heaths 

With desolation brown, he wanders waste, 

In night and tempest wrapt ; or shrinks, aghast, 

Back from the bending precipice ; or wades 

The turbid stream below, and strives to reach 

The farther shore, where succourless and sad 

She with extended arms his aid implores, 1070 

But strives in vain : borne by the outrageous flood 

To distance down, he rides the ridgy wave, 

Or whelm'd beneath the boiling eddy sinks. 

These are the charming agonies of love, 



62 SPRING. 

Whose misery delights. But through the heart 
/ Should jealousy its venom once diffuse, 
'Tis then delightful misery no more, 
But agony unmix'd, incessant gall, 
Corroding every thought, and blasting all 
Love's paradise. Ye fairy prospects, then, ioso 

Ye beds of roses, and ye bowers of joy, 
Farewell ! Ye gleamings of departed peace, 
Shine out your last ! the yellow-tinging plague 
Internal vision taints, and in a night 
Of livid gloom imagination wraps. 
Ah ! then, instead of love-enliven'd cheeks, 
Of sunny features, and of ardent eyes 
With flowing rapture bright, dark looks succeed, 
Suffus'd and glaring with untender fire ; 
A clouded aspect, and a burning cheek, 1090 

Where the whole poison'd soul malignant sits, 
And frightens love away. Ten thousand fears 
Invented wild, ten thousand frantic views 
Of horrid rivals, hanging on the charms 
For which he melts in fondness, eat him up 
With fervent anguish, and consuming rage. 



- 

SPRING. 63 

In vain reproaches lend their idle aid, 

Deceitful pride, and resolution frail, 

Giving false peace a moment. Fancy pours, 

Afresh, her beauties on his busy thought; 1100 

Her first endearments, twining round the soul 

With all the witchcraft of ensnaring love. 

Straight the fierce storm involves his mind anew ; 

Flames through the nerves, and boils along the veins ; 

While anxious doubt distracts the tortur'd heart : 

For even the sad assurance of his fears 

Were peace to what he feels. Thus the warm youth, 

Whom love deludes into his thorny wilds, y 

Through flowery-tempting paths, or leads a life 

Of fever'd rapture, or of cruel care ; 1110 

His brightest aims extinguish'd all, and all 

His lively moments running down to waste. 

But happy they ! the happiest of their kind ! 
Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate 
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 
'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws, 
Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind, 
That binds their peace, but harmony itself, 



64 SPRING. 

Attuning all their passions into love ; 

Where friendship full-exerts her softest power, 1120 

Perfect esteem enliven'd by desire 

Ineffable, and sympathy of soul ; 

Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, 

With boundless confidence : for nought but love 

Can answer love, and render bliss secure. 

Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intent 

To bless himself, from sordid parents buys 

The loathing virgin, in eternal care, 

Well-merited, consume his nights and days ; 

Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love 1130 

Is wild desire, fierce as the suns they feel ; 

Let eastern tyrants, from the light of heaven 

Seclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possess'd 

Of a mere lifeless, violated form : 

While those whom love cements in holy faith, 

And equal transport, free as Nature live, 

Disdaining fear. What is the world to them, 

Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all ! 

Who in each other clasp whatever fair 

High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish; iuo 




Something than beauty dearer, should they look 
Or on the mind, or mind-illumin'd face — 
Truth, goodness, honour, harmony, and love, 
The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven. 
Meantime a smiling offspring rises round, 
And mingles both their graces. By degrees, 
The human blossom blows ; and every day, jj 
Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm, 





66 SPUING. 



] 



The father's lustre and the mother's bloom. 

Then infant reason grows apace, and calls 1150 

For the kind hand of an assiduous care. 

Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, 

To teach the young idea how to shoot, 

To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, 

To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix 

The generous purpose in the glowing breast. 

Oh speak the joy ! ye whom the sudden tear 

Surprises often, while you look around, 

And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss, 

All various nature pressing on the heart; 1160 

An elegant sufficiency, content, 

Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, 

Ease and alternate labour, useful life, 

Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven. 

These are the matchless joys of virtuous love ; 

And thus their moments fly. The Seasons thus, 

As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll, 

Still find them happy ; and consenting Spring 

Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads : 

Till evening comes at last, serene and mild; 1170 



SPEING. 



67 



When after the long vernal day of life, 
Enamour'd more, as more remembrance swells 
With many a proof of recollected love, 
Together down they sink in social sleep ; 
Together freed, their gentle spirits fly 
To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign. 



1176 



^/A i 





THE ARGUMENT. 

The subject proposed. Invocation, .address to Mr. TJod- 
ington. An introductory reflection on the motion of the 
heavenly bodies : -whence the succession of the Seasons. 
As the face of nature in this season is almost uniform, 
the progress of the poem is a description of a Summer's 
day. The dawn. Sunrising. Hymn to the sun. Fore- 
noon. Summer insects described. Hay-making. Sheep- 
shearing. Noonday. A w.codland retreat. Group ot 
herds and flocks. A solemn grove : how it affects 
a contemplative mind. A cataract, and rude scene. 
View of Summer in the torrid zone. Storm of thunder 
and lightning. A tale. The storm over, a serene 
afternoon. Bathing. Hour of walking. Transition 
to the prospect of a rich well cultivated country ; 
which introduces a panegsric on Great Britain. " Sun- 
set. Evening. Night. Summer meteors. A comet. 
The -whole concluding with the praise of philosophy. 





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ROM brightening fields of ether fair-disclos'd, 
.Child of the sun, refulgent Summer comes. 
In pride of youth, and felt through nature's depth \s 
He comes attended by the sultry hours, 
And ever-fanning breezes, on his way ; 
While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring 
Averts her blushful face ; and earth, and skies, 
All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves. 

Hence, let me haste into the mid-wood shade, 
Where scarce a sunbeam wanders through the gloom ; 




72 SUMMEE. 

And on the dark-green grass, beside the brink 
Of hannted stream, that by the roots of oak 
Rolls o'er the rocky channel, lie at large, 
And sing the glories of the circling year. 

Come, inspiration ! from thy hermit-seat, 
By mortal seldom found : may fancy dare, 
From thy fix'd serious eye, and raptur'd glance 
Shot on surrounding heaven, to steal one look 
Creative of the poet, every power 
Exalting to an ecstasy of soul. 20 

And thou, my youthful muse's early friend, 
In whom the human graces all unite ; 
Pure light of mind, and tenderness of heart ; 
Genius and wisdom ; the gay social sense, 
By decency chastis'd; goodness and wit, 
In seldom-meeting harmony combin'd ; 
Unblemish'd honour, and an active zeal 
For Britain's glory, liberty, and man : 
O Dodington ! attend my rural song, 
Stoop to my theme, inspirit every line, 30 

And teach me to deserve thy just applause. 

With what an awful world-revolving power 



SUMMER. 73 

Were first the unwieldy planets launch'd along 

The illimitable void ! thus to remain, 

Amid the flux of many thousand years, 

That oft has swept the toiling race of men 

And all their labour'd monuments away, 

Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course ; 

To the kind-temper'd change of night and day, 

And of the Seasons ever stealing round, 40 

Minutely faithful : such the All-perfect Hand 

That pois'd, impels, and rules the steady whole. 

When now no more the alternate Twins are fir'd, 
And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze, 
Short is the doubtful empire of the night ; 
And soon, observant of approaching day, 
The meek-ey'd morn appears, mother of dews, 
At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east — 
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow, 
And, from before the lustre of her face, so 

White break the clouds away. With quicken'd step, 
Brown night retires. Young day pours in apace, 
And opens all the lawny prospect wide. 
The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top, 



74 



SUMMER. 



Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. 
Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine ; 
And from the bladed field the fearful hare 







SUMMER. 75 

Limps, awkward ; while along the forest glade 

The wild deer trip, and often turning gaze 

At early passenger. Music awakes, 60 

The native voice of undissemblecl joy ; 

And thick around the woodland hymns arise. 

Rous'd by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves 

His mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells ; 

And from the crowded fold, in order, drives 

His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn. 

Falsely luxurious, will not man awake ; 
And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy 
The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour, 
To meditation due and sacred song ? 70 

For is there aught in sleep can charm the Avise ? 
To he in dead oblivion, losing half 
The fleeting moments of too short a life ; 
Total extinction of the enlighten'd soul ! 
Or else to feverish vanity alive, 
Wilder'd, and tossing through distemper'd dreams ! 
Who would in such a gloomy state remain 
Longer than nature craves ; when every muse 
And every blooming pleasure wait without, 



76 SUMMEK. 

To bless the wildly devious morning-walk ? 80 

But yonder conies the powerful king of day, 
Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, 
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow 
Illum'd with fluid gold, his near approach 
Betoken glad. Lo ! now apparent all, 
Aslant the dew-bright earth, and colour'd air, 
He looks in boundless majesty abroad ; 
And sheds the shining day, that burnish'd plays 
On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams, 
High-gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer, light ! 90 

Of all material beings first, and best ! 
Efflux divine ! Nature's resplendent robe ! 
Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapt 
In unessential gloom ; and thou, O sun ! 
Soul of surrounding worlds ! in whom best seen 
Shines out thy Maker ! may I sing of thee ? 
'Tis by thy secret, strong, attractive force, 
As with a chain indissoluble bound, 
Thy system rolls entire ; from the far bourn 
Of utmost Saturn, wheeling wide his round 100 

Of thirty years, to Mercury, whose disk 



SUMMER. 77 

Can scarce be caught by philosophic eye, 
Lost in the near effulgence of thy blaze. 

Informer of the planetary train ! 
Without whose quickening glance their cumbrous orbs 
Were brute unlovely mass, inert and dead, 
And not, as now, the green abodes of life — 
How many forms of being wait on thee ! 
Inhaling spirit ; from the unfetter'd mind, 
By thee sublim'd, down to the daily race, no 

The mixing myriads of thy setting beam. 

The vegetable world is also thine, 
Parent of Seasons ! who the pomp precede 
That waits thy throne, as through thy vast domain, 
Annual, along the bright ecliptic-road, 
In world-rejoicing state, it moves sublime. 
Meantime the expecting nations, circled gay 
With all the various tribes of foodful earth, 
Implore thy bounty, or send grateful up 
A common hymn ; while, round thy beaming car, 120 
High-seen, the Seasons lead, in sprightly dance 
Harmonious knit, the rosy-fmger'd hours, 
The zephyrs floating loose, the timely rains, 



78 SUMMER. 

Of bloom ethereal the light-footed dews, 
And soften'd into joy the surly storms. 
These, in successive turn, with lavish hand, 
Shower every beauty, every fragrance shower, 
Herbs, flowers, and fruits ; till, kindling at thy touch, 
From land to land is flush'd the vernal year. 

Nor to the surface of enliven'd earth, 130 

Graceful with hills and dales, and leafy woods, 
Her liberal tresses, is thy force confin'd — 
But, to the bowell'd cavern darting deep, 
The mineral kinds confess thy mighty power. 
Effulgent, hence the veiny marble shines ; 
Hence labour draws his tools ; hence burnish'd war 
Gleams on the day ; the nobler works of peace 
Hence bless mankind ; and generous commerce binds 
The round of nations in a golden chain. 

The unfruitful rock itself, impregn'd by thee, uo 

In dark retirement forms the lucid stone. 
The lively diamond drinks thy purest rays, 
Collected light, compact ; that, polish'd bright, 
And all its native lustre let abroad, 
Dares, as it sparkles on the fair-one's breast, 



SUMMER. 



79 



With vain ambition emulate her eyes. 

At thee the ruby lights its deepening glow, 

And with a waving radiance inward flames. 

From thee the sapphire, solid ether, takes 

Its hue cerulean ; and, of evening tinct, 

The purple-streaming amethyst is thine. 

With thy own smile the yellow topaz burns ; 

Nor deeper verdure dyes the robe of Spring, 

When first she gives it to the southern gale, 

Than the green emerald shows. But, all combin'd, 

Thick through the whitening opal play thy beams ; 



150 



Or, flying several from its surface, form 
A trembling variance of revolving hues, 
As the site varies in the gazer's hand. 

The very dead creation, from thy touch, 
Assumes a mimic life. By thee refin'd, 
In brighter mazes the relucent stream 
Plays o'er the mead. The precipice abrupt, 
Projecting horror on the blacken 'd flood, 
Softens at thy return. The desert joys 
Wildly, through all his melancholy bounds. 
Rude ruins glitter ; and the briny deep, \ 



I 



160 




Seen from some pointed promontory's top, 
Far to the blue horizon's utmost verge, 
Restless, reflects a floating gleam. But this, 
And all the much-transported muse can sing, 
Are to thy beauty, dignity, and use, 
I Unequal far ; great delegated source 
Of light, and life, and grace, and joy below ! 




SUMMEK. 8 1 

How shall I then attempt to sing of him, 
Who, Light himself! in uncreated light 
Invested deep, dwells awfully retir'd 
From mortal eye, or angel's purer ken ; 
Whose single smile has, from the first of time, 
Fill'd, overflowing, all those lamps of heaven, 1 80 

That beam for ever through the boundless sky : 
But, should he hide his face, the astonish'd sun, 
And all the extinguish'd stars, would loosening reel 
Wide from their spheres, and chaos come again. 

And yet was every faltering tongue of man, 
Almighty Father ! silent in thy praise, , 

Thy works themselves would raise a general voice ; 
Even in the depth of solitary woods, 
By human foot untrod, proclaim thy power ; 
And to the quire celestial thee resound, 190 

The eternal cause, support, and end of all ! 

To me be Nature's volume broad-display'd ; 
And to peruse its all-instructing page, 
Or, haply catching inspiration thence, 
Some easy passage, raptur'd, to translate, 
My sole delight ; as through the falling glooms 



82 SUMMER. 

.Pensive I stray, or with the rising dawn 
^On fancy's eagle-wing excursive soar. 

Now, flaming up the heavens, the potent sun 
Melts into limpid air the high-rais'd clouds, 200 

And morning fogs, that hover'd round the hills 
In party-colour'd bands ; till wide unveil'd 
The face of nature shines, from where earth seems, 
Far-stretch'd around, to meet the bending sphere. 

Half in a blush of clustering roses lost, 
Dew-dropping coolness to the shade retires, 
There, on the verdant turf or flowery bed, 
By gelid founts and careless rills to muse ; 
While tyrant heat, dispreading through the sky, 
With rapid sway, his burning influence darts 210 

On man, and beast, and herb, and tepid stream. 

Who can unpitying see the flowery race, 
Shed by the morn, their new-flush'd bloom resign, 
Before the parching beam ? So fade the fair, 
When fevers revel through their azure veins. 
But one, the lofty follower of the sun, 
Sad when he sets, shuts up her yellow leaves, 
Drooping all night ; and, when he warm returns, 




Points her enamour'd bosom to his ray. 

Home, from his morning task, the swain retreats 
His flock before him stepping to the fold : 
While the full-udder'd mother lows around 
The cheerful cottage, then expecting food, 
The food of innocence and health ! The daw, 
The rook, and magpie, to the grey-grown oaks 
(That the calm village in their verdant arms, 
Sheltering, embrace) direct their lazy flight ; 
Where on the mingling boughs they sit embower'd, 
All the hot noon, till cooler hours arise. 
Faint, underneath, the household fowls convene ; 



84 SUMMER. 

And, in a corner of the buzzing shade, 

The housedog, with the vacant greyhound, lies, 

Out-stretch'd and sleepy. In his slumbers one 

Attacks the nightly thief, and one exults 

O'er hill and dale ; till, waken'd by the wasp, 

They starting snap. Nor shall the muse disdain 

To let the little noisy summer race 

Live in her lay, and flutter through her song, 

Not mean though simple : to the sun allied, 

From him they draw their animating fire. 240 

Wak'd by his warmer ray, the reptile young /^a^ 

Come wing'd abroad ; by the light air upborne, \^ 
Lighter, and full of soul. From every chink, 
And secret corner, where they slept away 
The wintry storms — or rising from their tombs, 
To higher life — by myriads, forth at once, 
Swarming they pour ; of all the varied hues 
Their beauty-beaming parent can disclose. 
Ten thousand forms ! ten thousand different tribes ! 
People the blaze. To sunny waters some 250 

By fatal instinct fly ; where on the pool 
They, sportive, wheel ; or, sailing down the stream, 



SUMMER. 85 

Are snatch'd immediate by the quick-ey'd trout, 

Or darting salmon. Through the greenwood glade 

Some love to stray ; there lodg'd, amus'd, and fed, 

In the fresh leaf. Luxurious, others make 

The meads their choice, and visit every flower, 

And every latent herb : for the sweet task, 

To propagate their kinds, and where to wrap, 

In what soft beds, their young yet undisclos'd, 260 

Employs their tender care. Some to the house, 

The fold, and dairy, hungry, bend their flight ; 

Sip round the pail, or taste the curdling cheese : 

Oft, inadvertent, from the milky stream ^ y 

They meet their fate ; or, weltering in the bowl, 

With powerless wings around them wrapt, expire. 

But chief to heedless flies the window proves 
A constant death ; where, gloomily retir'd, 
The villain spider lives, cunning and fierce, 
Mixture abhorr'd ! Amid a mangled heap 270 

Of carcasses, in eager watch he sits, 
O'erlooking all his waving snares around. 
Near the dire cell the dreadless wanderer oft 
Passes : as oft the ruffian shows his front. 




The prey at last ensnar'd, he dreadful darts, g jjgjjg^ 

With rapid glide, along the leaning line ; 

And, fixing in the wretch his cruel fangs, 

Strikes backward, grimly pleas'd : the fluttering wing, 

And shriller sound, declare extreme distress, 

And ask the helping hospitable hand. * 

i$<t 

Resounds the living surface of the ground : .j%r 

Nor undelightful is the ceaseless hum, -^ fft 

To him who muses through the woods at noon ; g^i|p^f 
Or drowsy shepherd, as he lies reclin'd, -'^mmX^ 

With half-shut eyes, beneath the floating shade 1 
Of willows grey, close-crowding o'er the broo 



SUMMER. 87 

Gradual, from these what numerous kinds descend, 
Evading even the microscopic eye ! 
Full nature swarms with life ; one wondrous mass 
Of animals, or atoms organis'd, 290 

Waiting the vital breath, when Parent-Heaven 

Shall bid, his spirit blow. The hoary fen, 

f — . 

In putrid steams, emits the living cloud 

Of pestilence. Through subterranean cells, 

Where searching sunbeams scarce can find a way, 

Earth animated heaves. The flowery leaf 

Wants not its soft inhabitants. Secure, 

Within its winding citadel, the stone y 

Holds multitudes. But chief the forest boughs, 

That dance unnumber'd to the playful breeze, 300 

The downy orchard, and the melting pulp 

Of mellow fruit, the nameless nations feed 

Of evanescent insects. Where the pool 

Stands mantled o'er with green, invisible 

Amid the floating verdure millions stray. 

Each liquid too, whether it pierces, soothes, 

Inflames, refreshes, or exalts the taste, 

With various forms abounds. Nor is the stream 



SUMMEK. 

Of purest crystal, nor the lucid air, 

Though one transparent vacancy it seems, 310 

Void of their unseen people. These, conceal'd 

By the kind art of forming Heaven, escape 

The grosser eye of man : for, if the worlds 

In worlds enclos'd should on his senses burst, 

From cates ambrosial, and the nectar'd bowl, 

He would abhorrent turn ; and in dead night, 

When silence sleeps o'er all, be stunn'd with noise. 

Let no presuming impious railer tax 
Creative Wisdom, as if aught was form'd 
In vain, or not for admirable ends. 320 

Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce 
His works unwise, of which the smallest part 
Exceeds the narrow vision of her mind ? 
As if upon a full-proportion'd dome, 
On swelling columns heav'd, the pride of art ! 
A critic fly, whose feeble ray scarce spreads 
An inch around, with blind presumption bold, 
Should dare to tax the structure of the whole. 
And lives the man whose universal eye 329 

Has swept at once the unbounded scheme of things, 



SUMMER. 89 

Mark'd their dependence so, and firm accord, 

As with unfaltering accent to conclude 

That this availeth nought ? Has any seen 

The mighty chain of beings, lessening down 

From Infinite Perfection to the brink 

Of dreary nothing, desolate abyss ! 

From which astonish'd thought, recoiling, turns ? 

Till then, alone let zealous praise ascend, 

And hymns of holy wonder, to that Power, 

Whose wisdom shines as lovely on our minds, 340 

As on our smiling eyes his servant-sun. 

Thick in yon stream of light, a thousand ways, y 

Upward and downward, thwarting and convolv'd, 
The quivering nations sport ; till, tempest-wing'd, 
Fierce Winter sweeps them from the face of day. 
Even so luxurious men, unheeding, pass 
An idle summer-life in fortune's shine, 
A season's glitter ! thus they flutter on 
From toy to toy, from vanity to vice ; 
Till, blown away by death, oblivion comes 350 

Behind, and strikes them from the book of life. 

Now swarms the village o'er the jovial mead : 





feed 




The rustic youth, brown with meridian toil, 
Healthful and strong ; full as the summer rose 
Blown by prevailing suns, the ruddy maid, 
Half naked, swelling on the sight, and all 
Her kindled graces burning o'er her cheek. 
Even stooping age is here ; and infant hands 
Trail the long rake, or, with the fragrant load 
O'ercharg'd, amid the kind oppression roll. 
Wide flies the tedded grain ; all in a row 
Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field, 



SUMMER. 91 

They spread the breathing harvest to the sun, 

That throws refreshful round a rural smell ; 

Or, as they rake the green-appearing ground, 

And drive the dusky wave along the mead, 

The russet haycock rises thick behind, 

In order gay : while heard from dale to dale, 

Waking the breeze, resounds the blended voice 

Of happy labour, love, and social glee. 3 70 

Or rushing thence, in one diffusive band, 
They drive the troubled flocks, by many a dog 
Compell'd, to where the mazy-running brook 
Forms a deep pool ; this bank abrupt and high, ^ 

And that, fair-spreading in a pebbled shore. 
Urg'd to the giddy brink, much is the toil, 
The clamour much, of men, and boys, and dogs, 
Ere the soft fearful people to the flood 
Commit their woolly sides. And oft the swain, 
On some impatient seizing, hurls them in : 380 

Embolden'd then, nor hesitating more, 
Fast, fast, they plunge amid the flashing wave, 
And panting labour to the farther shore. 
Repeated this, till deep the well-wash'd fleece 



92 SUMMEK. 

Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt 

The trout is banish'd by the sordid stream, 

Heavy and dripping, to the breezy brow 

Slow-move the harmless race ; where, as they spread 

Their swelling treasures to the sunny ray, 

Inly disturb'd, and wondering what this wild 390 

Outrageous tumult means, their loud complaints 

The country fill — and, toss'd from rock to rock, 

Incessant bleatings run around the hills. 

At last, of snowy white, the gather'd flocks 

Are in the wattled pen innumerous press'd, 

Head above head ; and rang'd in lusty rows 

The shepherds sit, and whet the sounding shears. 

The housewife waits to roll her fleecy stores, 

With all her gay-drest maids attending round. 

One, chief, in gracious dignity enthron'd, 400 

Shines o'er the rest, the pastoral queen, and rays 

Her smiles, sweet-beaming, on her shepherd-king ; 

While the glad circle round them yield their souls 

To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall. 

Meantime, their joyous task goes on apace : 

Some mingling stir the melted tar, and some, 




Deep on the new-shorn vagrant's heaving side, 
To stamp his master's cipher ready stand ; 
Others the unwilling wether drag: along; ; 
And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy 
Holds by the twisted horns the indignant ram. 
Behold where bound, and of its robe bereft, 
By needy man, that all-depending lord, 
How meek, how patient, the mild creature lies ! 
What softness in its melancholy face, 
What dumb complaining innocence appears ! 
Fear not, ye gentle tribes, 'tis not the knife 
Of horrid slaughter that is o'er you wav'd ; 
No, 'tis the tender swain's well-guided shears, 
Who having now, to pay his annual care, 



94 SUMMER. 

Borrow'd your fleece, to you a cumbrous load, 
Will send you bounding to your hills again. 

A simple scene ! yet hence Britannia sees 
Her solid grandeur rise : hence she commands 
The exalted stores of every brighter clime, 
The treasures of the sun without his rage ; 
Hence, fervent all, with culture, toil, and arts, 
Wide glows her land ; her dreadful thunder hence 
Rides o'er the waves sublime, and now, even now, . 
Impending hangs o'er Gallia's humbled coast ; 430 

Hence rules the circling deep, and awes the world. 

'Tis raging noon ; and, vertical, the sun 
Darts on the head direct his forceful rays. 
O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye 
Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns ; and all, 
From pole to pole, is undistinguish'd blaze. 
In vain the sight, dejected to the ground, 
Stoops for relief; thence hot ascending steams 
And keen reflection pain. Deep to the root 
Of vegetation parch'd, the cleaving fields 440 

And slippery lawn an arid hue disclose, 
Blast fancy's blooms, and wither even the soul. 



SUMMER. 95 

Echo no more returns the cheerful sound 

Of sharpening scythe : the mower, sinking, heaps 

O'er him the humid hay, with flowers perfum'd ; 

And scarce a chirping grasshopper is heard 

Through the dumb mead. Distressful nature pants. 

The very streams look languid from afar ; 

Or, through the unshelter'd glade, impatient, seem 

To hurl into the covert of the grove. 450 

All-conquering heat, oh intermit thy wrath ! 
And on my throbbing temples potent thus 
Beam not so fierce ! Incessant still you flow, 
And still another fervent flood succeeds, 
Pour'd on the head profuse. In vain I sigh, 
And restless turn, and look around for night : 
Night is far off; and hotter hours approach. 
Thrice-happy he ! who on the sunless side 
Of a romantic mountain, forest-crown'd, 
Beneath the whole collected shade reclines ; 460 

Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought, 
And fresh bedew'd with ever-spouting streams, 
Sits coolly calm, while all the world without, 
Unsatisfied and sick, tosses in noon. 



96 SUMMER. 

Emblem instructive of the virtuous man, 
Who keeps his temper'd mind serene, and pure, 
And every passion aptly harmonis'd, 
Amid a jarring world with vice inflam'd. 

Welcome, ye shades ! ye bowery thickets, hail ! 
Ye lofty pines ! ye venerable oaks ! 470 

Ye ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep ! 
Delicious is your shelter to the soul, 
As to the hunted hart the sallying spring, 
Or stream full-flowing, that his swelling sides 
Laves, as he floats along the herbag'd brink. 
Cool, through the nerves, your pleasing comfort glides ; 
The heart beats glad ; the fresh-expanded eye 
And ear resume their watch ; the sinews knit ; 
And life shoots swift through all the lighten'd limbs. 

Around the adjoining brook that purls along 48 o 

The vocal grove, now fretting o'er a rock, 
Now scarcely moving through a reedy pool, 
Now starting to a sudden stream, and now 
Gently diffus'd into a limpid plain, 
A various group the herds and flocks compose ; 
Rural confusion ! On the grassy bank 




Some ruminating lie ; while others stand 
Half in the flood, and often bending sip 
The circling surface. In the middle droops 
The strong laborious ox, of honest front, 
Which incompos'd he shakes ; and from his sides 
The troublous insects lashes with his tail, 
Returning still. Amid his subjects safe, 
Slumbers the monarch-swain ; his careless arm 
Thrown round his head, on downy moss sustain'd 
Here laid his scrip, with wholesome viands fill'd ; 
There, listening every noise, his watchful dog. 





89 SUMMER. 

Light fly his slumbers, if perchance a flight 
Of angry gadflies fasten on the herd ; 
That startling scatters from the shallow brook, 500 

In search of lavish stream. Tossing the foam, 
They scorn the keeper's voice, and scour the plain 
Through all the bright severity of noon ; 
While, from their labouring breasts, a hollow moan 
Proceeding, runs low-bellowing round the hills. 

Oft in this season too the horse, provok'd, 
While his big sinews full of spirits swell, 
Trembling with vigour, in the heat of blood, 
Springs the high fence ; and, o'er the field effus'd, 
Darts on the gloomy flood, with steadfast eye, 5io 

And heart estrang'd to fear : his nervous chest, 
Luxuriant and erect, the seat of strength ! 
Bears down the opposing stream ; quenchless his thirst, 
He takes the river at redoubled draughts ; 
And with wide nostrils, snorting, skims the wave. 

Still let me pierce into the midnight depth 
Of yonder grove, of wildest, largest growth ; 
That, forming high in air a woodland quire, 
Nods o'er the mount beneath. At every step, 



SUMMER. 99 

Solemn and slow, the shadows blacker fall, 520 

And all is awful listening gloom around. 

These are the haunts of meditation, these 
The scenes where ancient bards the inspiring breath, 
Ecstatic, felt ; and, from this world retir'd, 
Convers'd with angels, and immortal forms, 
On gracious errands bent : to save the fall 
Of virtue struggling on the brink of vice ; 
In waking whispers, and repeated dreams, 
To hint pure thought, and warn the favour'd soul 
For future trials fated to prepare ; 530 

To prompt the poet, who devoted gives 
His muse to better themes ; to soothe the pangs 
Of dying worth, and from the patriot's breast 
(Backward to mingle in detested war, 
But foremost when engag'd) to turn the death ; 
And numberless such offices of love, 
Daily and nightly, zealous to perforin. 

Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky, 
A thousand shapes or glide athwart the dusk, 
Or stalk majestic on. Deep-rous'd, I feel 540 

A sacred terror, a severe delight, 



■M 



m*$f 



Creep through my mortal frame ; and thus, inethinks 
A voice, than human more, the abstracted ear , /U? 
Of fancy strikes : " Be not of us afraid, 



! 



w 

$$£> 



Poor kindred man ! thy fellow-creatures, we^S^M^ih'fl d-, V' > &. l ? 
From the same Parent-Power our beings drew- y^/%nw s ■'%'•-. 
The same our Lord, and laws, and great pursuit. ; f ^ , ///■'. c .H f f 
Once some of us, like thee, through stormy life , > j ^ /^^ '- 

This holy calm, this harmony of mind, - ? iftlL i e ?^ 

Where purity and peace immino-le charms. ' ;f ' 7 ~ '. 

. . ' ■■!;,(■■ -- i-^A 

Then fear not us; but with responsive song, | ' 



Toil'd tempest-beaten, ere we could attain 



Amid these dim recesses, undisturb'd -A / : 



si. \\ n 



Tk 




SUMMER. 101 

Angelic harps are in full concert heard, 

And voices chanting from the wood-crown'd hill, 

The deepening dale, or inmost sylvan glade ; 560 

A privilege bestow'd by us, alone, 

On contemplation, or the hallow'd ear 

Of poet, swelling to seraphic strain." 

And art thou, Stanley 1 , of that sacred band ? 
Alas, for us too soon ! — Though rais'd above 
The reach of human pain, above the flight 
Of human joy, yet, with a mingled ray 
Of sadly pleas'd remembrance, must thou feel 
A mother's love, a mother's tender woe ; 
Who seeks thee still in many a former scene, 570 

Seeks thy fair form, thy lovely-beaming eyes, 
Thy pleasing converse, by gay lively sense 
Inspir'd — where moral wisdom mildly shone 
Without the toil of art, and virtue glow'd 
In all her smiles, without forbidding pride. 
But, O thou best of parents ! wipe thy tears ; 
Or rather to parental Nature pay 
The tears of grateful joy — who for a while 
Lent thee this younger self, this opening bloom 



102 SUMMEK. 

Of thy enlighten'd mind and gentle worth. 580 

Believe the muse : the wintry blast of death 
Kills not the buds of virtue ; no, they spread, 
Beneath the heavenly beam of brighter suns, 
Through endless ages, into higher powers. 

Thus up the mount, in airy vision rapt, 
I stray, regardless whither ; till the sound 
Of a near fall of water every sense 

Wakes from the charm of thought : swift-shrinking back, 
I check my steps, and view the broken scene. 

Smooth to the shelving brink a copious flood 590 

Rolls fair, and placid ; where collected all, 
In one impetuous torrent, down the steep 
It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round. 
At first, an azure sheet, it rushes broad ; 
Then whitening by degrees as prone it falls, 
And from the loud-resounding rocks below 
Dash'd in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft 
A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower. 
Nor can the tortur'd wave here find repose : 
But, raging still amid the shaggy rocks, 600 

Now flashes o'er the scatter'd fragments, now 



SUMMER. 103 

Aslant the hollow'd channel rapid darts ; 
And falling fast from gradual slope to slope, 
With wild infracted course, and lessen'd roar, 
It gains a safer bed, and steals, at last, 
Along the mazes of the quiet yale. 

Invited from the cliff, to whose dark brow 
He clings, the steep-ascending eagle soars, 
With upward pinions, through the flood of day ; 
And, giving full his bosom to the blaze, 6io 

Gains on the sun ; while all the tuneful race, 
Smit by afflictive noon, disorder'd droop, 
Deep in the thicket ; or, from bower to bower 
Responsive, force an interrupted strain. 
The stockdove only through the forest coos, 
Mournfully hoarse ; oft ceasing from his plaint, 
Short interval of weary woe ! again 
The sad idea of his murder'd mate, 
Struck from his side by savage fowler's guile, 
Across his fancy comes ; and then resounds 620 

A louder song of sorrow through the grove. 

Beside the dewy border let me sit, 
All in the freshness of the humid air : 



104 



SUMMER. 



There on that hollow'd rock, grotesque and wild, 
An ample chair moss-lin'd, and over head 
By flowering umbrage shaded ; where the bee 
Strays diligent, and with the extracted balm 




Of fragrant woodbine loads his little thigh. 

Now, while I taste the sweetness of the shade, 
While nature lies around deep-lull'd in noon, 
Now come, bold fancy, spread a daring flight, 
And view the wonders of the torrid zone 



C30 



SUMMER. 105 

Climes unrelenting ! with whose rage compar'd, 
Yon blaze is feeble, and yon skies are cool. 

See, how at once the bright-effulgent sun, 
Rising direct, swift chases from the sky 
The short liv'd twilight ; and with ardent blaze 
Looks gaily fierce o'er all the dazzling air : 
He mounts his throne ; but kind before him sends, 
Issuing from out the portals of the morn, 640 

The general breeze 2 , to mitigate his fire, 
And breathe refreshment on a fainting world. 
Great are the scenes, with dreadful beauty crown'd 
And barbarous wealth, that see, each circling year, y 
Returning suns and double seasons 3 pass : 
Rocks rich in gems, and mountains big with mines, 
That on the high equator ridgy rise, 
Whence many a bursting stream auriferous plays ; 
Majestic woods, of every vigorous green, 
Stage above stage, liigh-waving o'er the hills, 650 

Or to the far horizon wide-diffus'd, 
A boundless deep immensity of shade. 
Here lofty trees, to ancient song unknown, 
The noble sons of potent heat and floods 



106 SUMMEE. 

Prone-rushing from the clouds, rear high to heaven 
Their thorny stems, and broad around them throw 
Meridian gloom. Here, in eternal prime, 
Unnumber'd fruits, of keen delicious taste 
And vital spirit, drink amid the cliffs, 
And burning sands that bank the shrubby vales, 660 

Redoubled day ; yet in their rugged coats 
A friendly juice to cool its rage contain. 

Bear me, Pomona ! to thy citron groves ; 
To where the lemon and the piercing lime, 
With the deep orange, glowing through the green, 
Their lighter glories blend. Lay me reclin'd 
Beneath the spreading tamarind, that shakes, 
Fann'd by the breeze, its fever-cooling fruit. 
Deep in the night the massy locust sheds, 
Quench my hot limbs ; or lead me through the maze, 
Embowering endless, of the Indian fig; 67 1 

Or thrown at gayer ease, on some fair brow, 
Let me behold, by breezy murmurs cool'd, 
Broad o'er my head the verdant cedar wave, 
And high palmettos lift their graceful shade. 
Oh ! stretch'd amid these orchards of the sun, 



SUMMER. 107 

Give me to drain the cocoa's milky bowl, 

And from the palm to draw its freshening wine ; 

More bounteous far than all the frantic juice 

Which Bacchus pours. Nor, on its slender twigs 680 

Low-bending, be the full pomegranate scorn'd ; 

Nor, creeping through the woods, the gelid race 

Of berries. C Oft in humble station dwells 

Unboastful worth, above fastidious pomp./ 

Witness, thou best ananas, thou the pride - 

Of vegetable life, beyond whate'er 

The poets imag'cl in the golden age : 

Quick let me strip thee of thy tufty coat, 

Spread thy ambrosial stores, and feast with Jove ! 

From these the prospect varies, Plains immense 
Lie stretch'd below, interminable meads, 691 

And vast savannas, where the wandering eye, 
Unfix'd, is in a verdant ocean lost. 
Another Flora there, of bolder hues 
And richer sweets, beyond our garden's pride, 
Plays o'er the fields, and showers with sudden hand 
Exuberant Spring ; for oft these valleys shift 
Their green-embroider'd robe to fiery brown, 



108 SUMMEE. 

And swift to green again, as scorching suns, 

Or streaming dews and torrent rains, prevail. 700 

Along these lonely regions, where, retir'd 

From little scenes of art, great Nature dwells 

In awful solitude, and nought is seen 

But the wild herds that own no master's stall, 

Prodigious rivers roll their fattening seas ; 

On whose luxuriant herbage, half-conceal'd, 

Like a fall'n cedar, far diffus'd his train, 

Cas'd in green scales, the crocodile extends. 

The flood disparts : behold ! in plaited mail, 

Behemoth 4 rears his head. Grlanc'd from his side, 

The darted steel in idle shivers flies : 711 

He fearless walks the plain, or seeks the hills ; 

Where, as he crops his varied fare, the herds, 

In widening circle round, forget their food, 

And at the harmless stranger wondering gaze. 

Peaceful, beneath prhneval trees that cast 
Their ample shade o'er Niger's yellow stream, 
And where the Ganges rolls his sacred wave, 
Or 'mid the central depth of blackening woods 
High-rais'd in solemn theatre around, 720 



SUMMER. 109 

Leans the huge elephant ; wisest of brutes ! 

Oh truly wise ! with gentle might endow'd, 

Though powerful, not destructive. Here he sees 

Revolving ages sweep the changeful earth, 

And empires rise and fall ; regardless he 

Of what the never-resting race of men 

Project : thrice happy ! could he 'scape their guile, 

Who mine, from cruel avarice, his steps ; 

Or with his towery grandeur swell their state, 

The pride of kings ! or else his strength pervert, 730 

And bid him rage amid the mortal fray, 

Astonish'd at the madness of mankind. 

Wide o'er the winding umbrage of the floods, 
Like vivid blossoms glowing from afar, 
Thick-swarm the brighter birds. For Nature's hand, 
That with a sportive vanity has deck'd 
The plumy nations, there her gayest hues 
Profusely pours. But, if she bids them shine, 
Array'd in all the beauteous beams of day, 
Yet frugal still, she humbles them in song. 5 740 

Nor envy we the gaudy robes they lent 
Proud Montezuma's realm, whose legions cast 



110 SUMMER. 

A boundless radiance waving on the sun, 
While philomel is ours; while in our shades, 
Through the soft silence of the listening night, 
The. sober-suited songstress trills her lay. 

But come, my muse, the desert-barrier burst, 
A wild expanse of lifeless sand and sky ; 
And, swifter than the toiling caravan, 
Shoot o'er the vale of Sennaar, ardent climb 750 

The Nubian mountains, and the secret bounds 
Of jealous Abyssinia boldly pierce. 
Thou art no ruffian, who beneath the mask 
Of social commerce com'st to rob their wealth ; 
No holy fury thou, blaspheming Heaven, 
With consecrated steel to stab their peace, 
And through the land, yet red from civil wounds, 
To spread the purple tyranny of Rome. 
Thou, like the harmless bee, may'st freely range, 
From mead to mead bright with exalted flowers, 760 
From jasmine grove to grove ; may'st wander gay, 
Through palmy shades and aromatic woods, 
That grace the plains, invest the peopled hills, 
And up the more than Alpine mountains wave. 



SUMMER, 111 

There on the breezy summit, spreading fair 

For many a league ; or on stupendous rocks, 

That from the sun-redoubling valley lift, 

Cool to the middle air, their lawny tops ; 

Where palaces, and fanes, and villas rise ; 

And gardens smile around, and cultur'd fields ; 770 

And fountains gush ; and careless herds and flocks 

Securely stray ; a world within itself, 

Disdaining all assault : there let me draw 

Ethereal soul, there drink reviving gales, 

Profusely breathing from the spicy groves, 

And vales of fragrance ; there at distance hear 

The roaring floods, and cataracts, that sweep 

From disembowell'd earth the virgin gold ; 

And o'er the varied landscape, restless, rove, 

Fervent with life of every fairer kind. 780 

A land of wonders ! which the sun still eyes 

With ray direct, as of the lovely realm 

Enamour'd, and delighting there to dwell. 

How chang'd the scene ! In blazing height of noon, 
The sun, oppress'd, is plung'd in thickest gloom. 
Still horror reigns, a dreary twilight round, 



112 SUMMEE. 

Of struggling night and day malignant mix'd. 

For to the hot equator crowding fast, 

Where, highly rarefied, the yielding air 

Admits their stream, incessant vapours roll, 790 

Amazing clouds on clouds continual heap'd ; 

Or whirl 'd tempestuous by the gusty wind, 

Or silent borne along, heavy and slow, 

With the big stores of steaming oceans charg'd. 

Meantime, amid these upper seas, condens'd 

Around the cold aerial mountain's brow, 

And by conflicting winds together dash'd, 

The thunder holds his black tremendous throne ; 

From cloud to cloud the rending lightnings rage ; 

Till, in the furious elemental war 800 

Dissolv'd, the whole precipitated mass 

Unbroken floods and solid torrents pours. 

The treasures these, hid from the bounded search 
Of ancient knowledge ; whence, with annual pomp, 
Rich king of floods ! o'erflows the swelling Nile. 
From his two springs, in Gojam's sunny realm, 
Pure- welling out, he through the lucid lake 
Of fair Dembea rolls his infant stream. 




There, by the naiads nurs'd, he sports away 

His playful youth, amid the fragrant isles 

That with unfading verdure smile around. 

Ambitious, thence the manly river breaks ; 

And gathering many a flood, and copious fed 

With all the mellow'd treasures of the sky, 

Winds in progressive majesty along : 

Through splendid kingdoms now devolves his maze ; 

Now wanders wild o'er solitary tracts 

Of life-deserted sand ; till, glad to quit 

JP The joyless desert, down the Nubian rocks, 

From thundering steep to steep, he pours his urn, 

jj| And Egypt joys beneath the spreading wave. 




114 SUMMER. 

His brother Niger too, and all the floods 
In which the full-form'd maids of Afric lave 
Their jetty limbs ; and all that from the tract 
Of woody mountains stretch'd through gorgeous Ind 
Fall on Cor'mandel's coast, or Malabar; 
From Menam's 6 orient stream, that nightly shines 
With insect-lamps, to where aurora sheds 
On Indus' smiling banks the rosy shower ; 
All, at this bounteous season, ope their urns, 830 

And pour untoiling harvest o'er the land. 

Nor less thy world, Columbus, drinks, refresh'd, 
The lavish moisture of the melting year. 
Wide o'er his isles, the branching Orinoque 
Rolls a brown deluge ; and the native drives 
To dwell aloft on life-sufficing trees — 
At once his dome, his robe, his food, and arms. 
Swell'd by a thousand streams, impetuous hurl'd 
From all the roaring Andes, huge descends 
The mighty Orellana. 7 Scarce the muse 840 

Dares stretch her wing o'er this enormous mass 
Of rushing water ; scarce she dares attempt 
The sea-like Plata ; to whose dread expanse, 



SUMMER, 115 

Continuous depth, and wondrous length of course, 

Our floods are rills. With unabated force, 

In silent dignity they sweep along ; 

And traverse realms unknown, and blooming wilds, 

And fruitful deserts — worlds of solitude, 

Where the sun smiles and Seasons teem in vain, 

Unseen and unenjoy'd. Forsaking these, 850 

O'er peopled plains they fair-diffusive flow, 

And many a nation feed, and circle safe, 

In their soft bosom, many a happy isle ; 

The seat of blameless Pan, yet undisturb'd 

By Christian crimes and Europe's cruel sons. 

Thus pouring on they proudly seek the deep, 

Whose vanquish'd tide, recoiling from the shock, 

Yields to this liquid weight of half the globe ; 

And ocean trembles for his green domain. 

But what avails this wondrous waste of wealth, 860 
This gay profusion of luxurious bliss, 
This pomp of Nature ? what their balmy meads, 
Their powerful herbs, and Ceres void of pain ? 
By vagrant birds clispers'd, and wafting winds, 
What their unplanted fruits ? what the cool draughts. 



116 SUMMER. 

The ambrosial food, rich gums, and spicy health, 

Their forests yield ? their toiling insects what, 

Their silky pride, and vegetable robes ? 

Ah ! what avail their fatal treasures, hid 

Deep in the bowels of the pitying earth, 870 

Golconda's gems, and sad Potosi's mines ? 

Where dwelt the gentlest children of the sun ! 

What all that Afric's golden rivers roll, 

Her odorous woods, and shining ivory stores ? 

Ill-fated race ! the softening arts of peace, 

Whate'er the humanising muses teach ; 

The godlike wisdom of the temper'd breast ; 

Progressive truth, the patient force of thought ; 

Investigation calm, whose silent powers 

Command the world ; the light that leads to Heaven ; 

Kind equal rule, the government of laws, 881 

And all-protecting freedom, which alone 

Sustains the name and dignity of man : 

These are not theirs, The parent sun himself 

Seems o'er this world of slaves to tyrannise ; 

And, with oppressive ray, the roseate bloom 

Of beauty blasting, gives the gloomy hue, 



SUMMER. 117 

And feature gross ; or worse, to ruthless deeds, 
Mad jealousy, blind rage, and fell revenge, 
Their fervid spirit fires. Love dwells not there ; 890 
The soft regards, the tenderness of life, 
The heart-shed tear, the ineffable delight 
Of sweet humanity : these court the beam 
Of milder climes ; in selfish fierce desire, 
And the wild fury of voluptuous sense, 
There lost. The very brute creation there 
This rage partakes, and burns with horrid fire. 
Lo ! the green serpent, from his dark abode, 
Which even imagination fears to tread, 
At noon forth-issuing, gathers up his train 900 

In orbs immense, then, darting out anew, 
Seeks the refreshing fount, by which diffus'd 
He throws his folds ; and while, with threatening tongue 
And deathful jaws erect, the monster curls 
His flaming crest, all other thirst appall'd, 
Or shivering flies, or check'd at distance stands, 
Nor dares approach. But still more direful he, 
The small close-lurking minister of fate, 
Whose high-concocted venom through the veins 



118 SUMMER. 

A rapid lightning darts, arresting swift 9io 

The vital current. Form'd to humble man, 

This child of vengeful Nature ! There, sublim'd 

To fearless lust of blood, the savage race 

Roain, licens'd by the shading hour of guilt, 

And foul misdeed, when the pure day has shut 

His sacred eye. The tiger, darting fierce, 

Impetuous on the prey his glance has doom'd ; 

The lively-shining leopard, speckled o'er 

With many a spot, the beauty of the waste ; 

And, scorning all the taming arts of man, 920 

The keen hyena, fellest of the fell : 

These, rushing from the inhospitable woods 

Of Mauritania, or the tufted isles 

That verdant rise amid the Libyan wild, 

Innumerous glare around their shaggy king, 

Majestic, stalking o'er the printed sand ; 

And, with imperious and repeated roars, 

Demand their fated food. The fearful flocks 

Crowd near the guardian swain ; the nobler herds, 

Where round their lordly bull, in rural ease, 930 

They ruminating lie, with horror hear 




The coming rage. The awaken'd village starts ; 
And to her fluttering breast the mother strains 
Her thoughtless infant. From the pirate's den, 
Or stern Morocco's tyrant fang, escap'd, 
The wretch half-wishes for his bonds ao-ain- 
While, uproar all, the wilderness resounds, 
From Atlas eastward to the frighted Nile. Hf 
Unhappy he ! who from the first of joys, M 
Society, cut off, is left alone Wk 

Amid this world of death. Day after day, 
Sad on the jutting eminence he sits, 
And views the main that ever toils below : 






120 SUMMER. 

Still fondly forming in the farthest verge, 

Where the round ether mixes with the wave, 

Ships, dim-discover'd, dropping from the clouds. 

At evening to the setting sun he turns 

A mournful eye, and down his dying heart 

Sinks helpless ; while the wonted roar is up, 

And hiss continual through the tedious night. 950 

Yet here, even here, into these black abodes 

Of monsters, unappall'd, from stooping Rome, 

And guilty Cassar, liberty retir'd, 

Her Cato following through Numidian wilds ; 

Disdainful of Campania's gentle plains, 

And all the green delights Ausonia pours — 

When for them she must bend the servile knee, 

And fawning take the splendid robber's boon. 

Nor stop the terrors of these regions here. 
Commission'd demons oft, angels of wrath, 960 

Let loose the raging elements. Breath'd hot 
From all the boundless furnace of the sky, 
And the wide glittering waste of burning sand, 
A suffocating wind the pilgrim smites 
With instant death. Patient of thirst and toil, 



SUMMER. 121 

Son of the desert ! even the camel feels, 

Shot through his wither'd heart, the fiery blast. 

Or from the black-red ether, bursting broad, 

Sallies the sudden whirlwind. Straight the sands, 

Commov'd around, in gathering eddies play ; 970 

Nearer and nearer still they darkening come ; 

Till, with the general all-involving storm 

Swept up, the whole continuous wilds arise ; 

And by their noon day fount dejected thrown, 

Or sunk at night in sad disastrous sleep, 

Beneath descending hills, the caravan 

Is buried deep. In Cairo's crowded streets 

The impatient merchant, wondering, waits in vain, 

And Mecca saddens at the long delay. 

But chief at sea, whose every flexile wave 980 

Obeys the blast, the aerial tumult swells. 
In the dread ocean, undulating wide, 
Beneath the radiant line that girts the globe, 
The circling typhon 8 , whirl'd from point to point, 
Exhausting all the rage of all the sky, 
And dire ecnephias 8 , reign. Amid the heavens, 
Falsely serene, deep in a cloudy speck 9 



122 SUMMEK. 

Compress'd, the mighty tempest brooding dwells : 

Of no regard save to the skilful eye, 

Fiery and foul, the small prognostic hangs 990 

Aloft, or on the promontory's brow 

Musters its force. A faint deceitful calm, 

A fluttering gale, the demon sends before, 

To tempt the spreading sail. Then down at once, 

Precipitant, descends a mingled mass 

Of roaring winds, and flame, and rushing floods. 

In wild amazement fix'd the sailor stands. 

Art is too slow. By rapid fate oppress'd, 

His broad-wing'd vessel drinks the whelming tide, 

Hid in the bosom of the black abyss. 1000 

With such mad seas the daring Gama 10 fought, 

For many a day, and many a dreadful night, 

Incessant, labouring round the stormy cape ; 

By bold ambition led, and bolder thirst 

Of gold, For then, from ancient gloom, emerg'd 

The rising world of trade : the genius, then, 

Of navigation, that in hopeless sloth 

Had slumber'd on the vast Atlantic deep 

For idle ages, starting, heard at last 



SUMMEE. 123 

The Lusitanian prince 11 ; who, heaven-inspir'd, 1010 

To love of useful glory rous'd mankind, 

And in unbounded commerce mix'd the world. 

Increasing still the terrors yd? these storms, 
His jaws horrific arm'd with threefold fate, 
Here dwells the direful shark. Lur'd by the scent 
Of steaming crowds, of rank disease, and death, 
Behold ! he rushing cuts the briny flood, 
Swift as the gale can bear the ship along ; 
And from the partners of that cruel trade 
Which spoils unhappy Guinea of her sons, 1020 

Demands his share of prey — demands themselves. 
The stormy fates descend : one death involves 
Tyrants and slaves ; when straight, their mangled limbs 
Crashing at once, he dyes the purple seas 
With gore, and riots in the vengeful meal. 

When o'er this world, by equinoctial rains 
Flooded immense, looks out the joyless sun, 
And draws the copious steam ; from swampy fens, 
Where putrefaction into life ferments, 
And breathes destructive myriads ; or from woods, 
Impenetrable shades, recesses foul, 1031 



124 SUMMER. 

In vapours rank and blue corruption wrapt, 
Whose gloomy horrors yet no desperate foot 
Has ever dar'd to pierce — then, wasteful, forth 
Walks the dire power of pestilent disease. 
A thousand hideous fiends her course attend, 
Sick nature blasting, and to heartless woe, 
And feeble desolation, casting down 
The towering hopes and all the pride of man. 
Such as, of late, at Cartagena quench'd 1040 

The British fire. You, gallant Vernon, saw 
The miserable scene ; you, pitying, saw 
To infant weakness sunk the warrior's arm ; 
Saw the deep-racking pang, the ghastly form, 
The lip pale-quivering, and the beamless eye 
No more with ardour bright ; you heard the groans 
Of agonising ships, from shore to shore ; 
Heard, nightly plung'd amid the sullen waves, 
The frequent corse — while on each other fix'd, 
In sad presage, the blank assistants seem'd, 1050 

Silent, to ask, whom fate would next demand. 
What need I mention those inclement skies 
Where, frequent o'er the sickening city, plague, 



STTMMEK. 125 

The fiercest child of Nemesis divine, 

Descends ? From Ethiopia's poison'd woods, 

From stifled Cairo's filth, and fetid fields 

With locust-armies putrefying heap'd, 

This great destroyer sprung. 12 Her awful rage 

The brutes escape. Man is her destin'd prey, 

Intemperate man ! and o'er his guilty domes 1060 

She draws a close incumbent cloud of death ; 

Uninterrupted by the living winds, 

Forbid to blow a wholesome breeze ; and stain'd 

With many a mixture by the sun, suffus'd, 

Of angry aspect. Princely wisdom, then, 

Dejects his watchful eye ; and from the hand 

Of feeble justice, ineffectual, drop 

The sword and balance : mute the voice of joy, 

And hush'd the clamour of the busy world. 

Empty the streets, with uncouth verdure clad ; 1070 

Into the worst of deserts sudden turn'd 

The cheerful haunt of men — unless escap'd 

From the doom'd house, where matchless horror reigns, 

Shut up by barbarous fear, the smitten wretch, 

With frenzy wild, breaks loose, and loud to Heaven 




' J 



Screaming, the dreadful policy arraigns, 
Inhuman and unwise. The sullen door, 

/ 4 - Yet uninfected, on its cautious hinge 
Fearing to turn, abhors society. 

]! Dependants, friends, relations, love himself, 
Savag'd by woe, forget the tender tie, 
The sweet engagement of the feeling heart. 
But vain their selfish care : the circling sky, 
The wide enlivening air is full of fate ; 
And, struck by turns, in solitary pangs 
They fall, unblest, untended, and unmourn'd. 




_y — -i — 



SUMMER. 127 

Thus o'er the prostrate city black despair 

Extends her raven wing ; while, to complete 

The scene of desolation, stretch'd around, 

The grim guards stand, denying all retreat, 1090 

And give the flying wretch a better death. 

Much yet remains unsung : the rage intense 
Of brazen-vaulted skies, of iron fields, 
Where drought and famine starve the blasted year ; 
Fir'd by the torch of noon to tenfold rage, 
The infuriate hill that shoots the pillar'd flame ; 
And, rous'd within the subterranean world, 
The expanding earthquake, that resistless shakes 
Aspiring cities from their solid base, 
And buries mountains in the flaming gulf. 1100 

But 'tis enough ; return, my vagrant muse ; 
A nearer scene of horror calls thee home. 

Behold, slow-settling o'er the lurid grove, 
Unusual darkness broods ; and growing gains 
The full possession of the sky, surcharg'd 
With wrathful vapour, from the secret beds, 
Where sleep the mineral generations, drawn. 
Thence nitre, sulphur, and the fiery spume 



128 SUMMER. 

Of fat bitumen, steaming on the day, 

With various-tinctur'd trains of latent flame, mo 

Pollute the sky, and in yon baleful cloud, 

A reddening gloom, a magazine of fate, 

Ferment ; till, by the touch ethereal rous'd, 

The dash of clouds, or irritating war 

Of fighting winds, while all is calm below, 

They furious spring. A boding silence reigns, 

Dread through the dun expanse ; save the dull sound 

That from the mountain, previous to the storm, 

Rolls o'er the muttering earth, disturbs the flood, 

And shakes the forest leaf without a breath : 1 120 

Prone, to the lowest vale, the aerial tribes 

Descend : the tempest-loving raven scarce 

Dares wing the dubious dusk. In rueful gaze 

The cattle stand, and on the scowling heavens 

Cast a deploring eye ; by man forsook, 

Who to the crowded cottage hies him fast, 

Or seeks the shelter of the downward cave. 

'Tis listening fear, and dumb amazement all : 
When to the startled eye the sudden glance 
Appears far south, eruptive through the cloud ; 1130 



SUMMER. 129 

And following slower, in explosion vast, 

The thunder raises his tremendous voice. 

At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of heaven, 

The tempest growls ; but as it nearer comes, 

And rolls its awful burden on the wind, 

The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more 

The noise astounds — till over head a sheet 

Of livid flame discloses wide, then shuts 

And opens wider, shuts and opens still 

Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze. iuo 

Follows the loosen'd aggravated roar, 

Enlarging, deepening, mingling, peal on peal 

Crush'd horrible, convulsing heaven and earth. 

Down comes a deluge of sonorous hail, 
Or prone-descending rain. Wide-rent, the clouds 
Pour a whole flood ; and yet, its flame unquench'd, 
The unconquerable lightning struggles through, 
Ragged and fierce, or in red whirling balls, 
And fires the mountains with redoubled rage. 1149 

Black from the stroke, above, the smouldering pine 
Stands a sad shatter'd trunk ; and, stretch'd below, 
A lifeless group the blasted cattle lie : 






Here the soft flocks, with that same harmless look 
They wore alive, and ruminating still 
\ In fancy's eye ; and there the frowning bull, 
And ox half-rais'd. Struck on the castled cliff, 
The venerable tower and spiry fane 
Resign their aged pride. The gloomy woods 
Start at the flash, and from their deep recess, 
Wide-flaming out, their trembling inmates shake. 
Amid Caernarvon's mountains rages loud 
The repercussive roar ; with mighty crush, 
Into the flashing deep, from the rude rocks 
Of Penmaen Mawr heap'd hideous to the sky, 
Tumble the smitten cliffs ; and Snowdon's peak, 
Dissolving, instant yields his wintry load. 
Far-seen, the heights of heathy Cheviot blaze, 
And Thule bellows through her utmost isles. 



SUMMER. 131 

Guilt hears appall'd, with deeply troubled thought ; 
And yet not always on the guilty head 1170 

Descends the fated flash. Young Celadon 
And his Amelia ivere a matchless pair ; 
With equal virtue form'd, and equal grace, 
The same, distinguish'd by their sex alone : 
Hers the mild lustre of the blooming morn, 
And his the radiance of the risen day. 

They lov'd : but such their guileless passion was, 
As in the dawn of time inform'd the heart 
Of innocence, and'undissembling truth. 
'Twas friendship heighten'd by the mutual wish, 11 so 
The enchanting hope, and sympathetic glow, 
Beam'd from the mutual eye. Devoting all 
To love, each was to each a dearer self; 
Supremely happy in the awaken'd power 
Of giving joy. Alone, amid the shades, 
Still in harmonious intercourse they liv'd 
The rural day, and talk'd the flowing heart, 
Or sigh'd and look'd unutterable things. 

So pass'd their life, a clear united stream, 
By care unruffled ; till, in evil hour, 1190 




h\ 



The tempest caught them on the tender walk, 

Heedless how far, and where its mazes stray'd, 

While, with each other blest, creative love 

Still bade eternal Eden smile around. 

Heavy with instant fate, her bosom heav'd 

Unwonted sighs, and stealing oft a look 

Of the big gloom, on Celadon her eye 

Fell tearful, wetting her disorder'd cheek. 

In vain assuring love, and confidence 

In Heaven, repress'd her fear ! it grew, and shook 



,.\H: 

m 



^ti 



SUMMER. 133 

Her frame near dissolution. He perceiv'd 

The unequal conflict ; and, as angels look 

On dying saints, his eyes compassion shed, 

With love illumin'd high. " Fear not," he said, 

" Sweet innocence ! thou stranger to offence, 

And inward storm ! He who yon skies involves 

In frowns of darkness, ever smiles on thee 

With kind regard. O'er thee the secret shaft 

That wastes at midnight, or the undreaded hour 

Of noon, flies harmless; and that very voice 1210 

Which thunders terror through the guilty heart, 

With tongues of seraphs whispers peace to thine. 

'Tis safety to be near thee sure, and thus 

To clasp perfection ! " From his void embrace, 

Mysterious Heaven ! that moment, to the ground, 

A blacken'd corse, was struck the beauteous maid. 

But who can paint the lover, as he stood, 

Pierc'd by severe amazement, hating life, 

Speechless, and fix'd in all the death of woe ! 

So, faint resemblance, on the marble tomb 1220 

The well-dissembled mourner stooping stands, 

For ever silent, and for ever sad. 



134 SUMMER. 

As from the face of heaven the shatter'd clouds 
Tumultuous rove, the interminable sky 
Sublimer swells, and o'er the world expands 
A purer azure. Nature, from the storm, 
Shines out afresh ; and through the lighten'd air 
A higher lustre and a clearer calm, 
Diffusive, tremble ; while, as if in sign 
Of danger past, a glittering robe of joy, 1230 

Set off abundant by the yellow ray, 
Invests the fields, yet dropping from distress. 

'Tis beauty all, and grateful song around, 
Join'd to the low of kine, and numerous bleat 
Of flocks thick-nibbling through the clover'd vale. 
And shall the hymn be marr'd by thankless man, 
Most-favour'd ; who with voice articulate 
Should lead the chorus of this lower world ? 
Shall he, so soon forgetful of the hand 
That hush'd the thunder, and serenes the sky, 1240 

Extinguish'd feel that spark the tempest wak'd, 
That sense of powers exceeding far his own, 
Ere yet his feeble heart has lost its fears ? 

Cheer'd by the milder beam, the sprightly youth 



SUMMER. 135 

Speeds to the well-known pool, whose crystal depth 
A sandy bottom shows. A while he stands 
Gazing the inverted landscape, half-afraid 
To meditate the blue profound below ; 
Then plunges headlong down the circling flood. 
His ebon tresses and his rosy cheek 1250 

Instant emerge ; and through the obedient wave, 
At each short breathing by his lip repell'd, 
With arms and legs according well, he makes, 
As humour leads, an easy-winding path ; 
While, from his polish'd sides, a dewy light 
Effuses on the pleas'd spectators round. 
This is the purest exercise of health, 
The kind refresher of the summer heats ; 
Nor, when cold Winter keens the brightening flood, 
Would I weak-shivering linger on the brink. 1260 

Thus life redoubles ; and is oft preserv'd, 
By the bold swimmer, in the swift illapse 
Of accident disastrous. Hence the limbs 
Knit into force ; and the same Roman arm 
That rose victorious o'er the conquer'd earth, 
First learn'd, while tender, to subdue the wave. 



136 SUMMER. 

Even, from the body's purity, the mind 
Receives a secret sympathetic aid. 

Close in the covert of an hazel copse, 
Where winded into pleasing solitudes 1270 

Runs out the rambling dale, young Damon sat ; 
Pensive, and pierc'd with love's delightful pangs. 
There to the stream that down the distant rocks 
Hoarse-murmuring fell, and plaintive breeze that play'd 
Among the bending willows, falsely he 
Of Musidora's cruelty complain'd. 
She felt his flame ; but deep within her breast, 
In bashful coyness, or in maiden pride, 
The soft return conceal'd — save when it stole 
In sidelong glances from her downcast eye, 1280 

Or from her swelling soul in stifled sighs. 
Touch'd by the scene, no stranger to his vows, 
He fram'd a melting lay, to try her heart ; 
And, if an infant passion struggled there, 
To call that passion forth. Thrice-happy swain ! 
A lucky chance, that oft decides the fate 
Of mighty monarchs, then decided thine. 
For, lo ! conducted by the laughing loves, 



SUMMER. 137 

This cool retreat his Musidora sought : 

Warm in her cheek the sultry season glow'cl; 1290 

And, rob'd in loose array, she came to bathe 

Her fervent limbs in the refreshing stream. 

What shall he do ? In sweet confusion lost, 

And dubious flutterings, he a while remain'd. 

A pure ingenuous elegance of soul, 

A delicate refinement known to few, 

Perplex'd his breast, and urg'd him to retire ; 

But love forbade. Ye prudes in virtue, say, 

Say, ye severest, what would you have done ? 

Meantime, this fairer nymph than ever blest i3oe y 

Arcadian stream, with timid eye around 

The banks surveying, stripp'd her beauteous limbs, 

To taste the lucid coolness of the flood. 

Ah ! then, not Paris on the piny top 

Of Ida panted stronger, when aside 

The rival goddesses the veil divine 

Cast unconfin'd, and gave him all their charms, 

Than, Damon, thou ; as from the snowy leg, 

And slender foot, the inverted silk she drew ; 

As the soft touch dissolv'd the virgin zone; 1310 



138 SUMMER. 

And, through the parting robe, the alternate breast, 

With youth wild-throbbing, on thy lawless gaze 

In full luxuriance rose. But, desperate youth, 

How durst thou risk the soul-distracting view, 

As from her naked limbs, of glowing white, 

Harmonious swell'd by Nature's finest hand, 

In folds loose-floating fell the fainter lawn, 

And fair-expos'd she stood — shrunk from herself, 

With fancy blushing, at the doubtful breeze 

Alarm'd, and starting like the fearful fawn? 1320 

Then to the flood she rush'd : the parted flood 

Its lovely guest with closing waves receiv'd ; 

And every beauty softening, every grace 

Flushing anew, a mellow lustre shed — 

As shines the lily through the crystal mild, 

Or as the rose amid the morning dew, 

Fresh from Aurora's hand, more sweetly glows. 

While thus she wanton'd, now beneath the wave 

But ill-conceal'd, and now with streaming locks, 

That half-embrac'd her in a humid veil, 1330 

Rising again, the latent Damon drew 

Such maddening draughts of beauty to the soul, 



SUMMER. 139 

As for a while o'erwhelm'd his raptur'cl thought 

With luxury too daring. Check'd, at last, 

By love's respectful modesty, he deem'cl 

The theft profane, if aught profane to love 

Can e'er be deem'd, and, struggling from the shade, 

With headlong hurry fled ; but first these lines, 

Trac'd by his ready pencil, on the bank 

With trembling hand he threw : " Bathe on, my fair, 

Yet unbeheld save by the sacred eye 1341 

Of faithful love : I go to guard thy haunt ; 

To keep from thy recess each vagrant foot, 

And each licentious eye." With wild surprise, 

As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, 

A stupid moment motionless she stood : 

So stands the statue 13 that enchants the world ; 

So bending tries to veil the matchless boast, 

The mingled beauties of exulting Greece. 

Recovering, swift she flew to find those robes 1350 

Which blissful Eden knew not ; and, array'd 

In careless haste, the alarming paper snatch'd. 

But when her Damon's well-known hand she saw, 

Her terrors vanish'd, and a softer train 



SUMMER. 141 

By modesty exalted. Even a sense 

Of self-approving beanty stole across 1360 

Her busy thought. At length, a tender calm 

Hush'd by degrees the tumult of her soul ; 

And on the spreading beech, that o'er the stream 

Incumbent hung, she with the sylvan pen 

Of rural lovers this confession carv'd, 

Which soon her Damon kiss'd with weeping joy : 

" Dear youth ! sole judge of what these verses mean, 

By fortune too much favour'd, but by love, 

Alas ! not favour'd less, be still as now 

Discreet ; the time may come you need not fly." 13Y0 

The sun has lost his rage : his downward orb 
Shoots nothing now but animating warmth, 
And vital lustre ; that, with various ray, 
Lights up the clouds, those beauteous robes of heaven, 
Incessant roll'd into romantic shapes, 
The dream of waking fancy ! Broad below, 
Cover'd with ripening fruits, and swelling fast 
Into the perfect year, the pregnant earth 
And all her tribes rejoice. Now the soft hour 
Of walking comes : for him who lonely loves 1380 



142 SUMMER. 

To seek the distant hills, and there converse 

With Nature ; there to harmonise his heart, 

And in pathetic song to breathe around 

The harmony to others. Social friends, 

Attun'd to happy unison of soul — 

To whose exalting eye a fairer world, 

Of which the vulgar never had a glimpse, 

Displays its charms — whose minds are richly fraught 

With philosophic stores, superior light — 

And in whose breast, enthusiastic, burns 1390 

Virtue the sons of interest deem romance, 

Now call'd abroad enjoy the falling day : 

Now to the verdant portico of woods, 

To Nature's vast lyceum, forth they walk ; 

By that kind school where no proud master reigns, 

The full free converse of the friendly heart, 

Improving and improv'd. Now from the world, 

Sacred to sweet retirement, lovers steal, 

And pour their souls in transport, which the sire 

Of love approving hears, and calls it good. 1 400 

Which way, Amanda, shall we bend our course ? 

The choice perplexes. Wherefore should we choose ? 




All is the same with thee. Say, shall we wind 

Along the streams? or walk the smiling mead? 

Or court the forest glades ? or wander wild 

Among the waving harvests ? *or ascend, 39 

,While radiant Summer opens all its pride, 

Thy hill, delightful Sheen ? ]4 Here let us sweep 

The boundless landscape ; now the raptur'd eye, 

Exulting swift, to huge Augusta send, 

Now to the sister-hills 15 that skirt her plain. " t : " 




A 



t 




144 SUMMER. 

To lofty Harrow now, and now to where 

Majestic Windsor lifts its princely brow. 

In lovely contrast to this glorious view, 

Calmly magnificent, then will we turn 

To where the silver Thames first rural grows. 

There let the feasted eye unwearied stray ; 

Luxurious, there, rove through the pendent woods 

That nodding hang o'er Harrington's retreat, 

And stooping thence to Ham's embowering walks, 

Beneath whose shades, in spotless peace retir'd, 1421 

With her the pleasing partner of his heart, 

The worthy Queensberry yet laments his Gay, 

And polish'd Cornbury woos the willing muse, 

Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames — 

Fair-winding up to where the muses haunt 

In Twit'nam's bowers, and for their Pope implore 

The healing god, to royal Hampton's pile, 

To Clermont's terrac'd height, and Esher's groves, 

Where in the sweetest solitude, embrac'd 1430 

By the soft windings of the silent Mole, 

From courts and senates Pelham finds repose. 

Enchanting vale ! beyond whate'er the muse 



SUMMEE. 145 

Has of Achaia or Hesperia sung ! 
vale of bliss ! O softly swelling hills ! 
On which the power of cultivation lies, 
And joys to see the wonders of his toil. 

Heavens ! what a goodly prospect spreads around, 
Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, 
And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all 1440 
The stretching landscape into smoke decays ! 
Happy Britannia ! where the queen of arts, 
Inspiring vigour, liberty abroad 
Walks, unconfin'd, even to thy farthest cots, 
And scatters plenty with unsparing hand. 

Rich is thy soil, and merciful thy clime ; 
Thy streams unfailing in the Summer's drought ; 
Unmatch'd thy guardian-oaks ; thy valleys float 
With golden waves ; and on thy mountains flocks 
Bleat numberless — while, roving round their sides, 
Bellow the blackening herds in lusty droves. 1451 

Beneath, thy meadows glow, and rise unquell'd 
Against the mower's scythe. On every hand 
Thy villas shine. Thy country teems with wealth ; 
And property assures it to the swain, 



146 



SUMMEK. 




Pleas'd and unwearied in his guarded toil. 
Full are thy cities with the sons of art ; 
And trade and joy, in every busy street, 
Mingling are heard : even drudgery himself. 
As at the car he sweats, or dusty hews 
The palace-stone, looks gay. Thy crowded ports, 
Where rising masts an endless prospect yield. 
With labour burn, and echo to the shouts 
Of hurried sailor, as he hearty waves 
His last adieu, and, loosening every sheet, 
Resigns the spreading vessel to the wind. 




SUMMER. 147 

Bold, firm, and graceful, are thy generous youth, 
By hardship sinew'd, and by danger fir'd, 
Scattering the nations where they go ; and first, 
Or in the listed plain, or stormy seas. 1470 

Mild are thy glories too, as o'er the plans 
Of thriving peace thy thoughtful sires preside ; 
In genius, and substantial learning, high ; 
For every virtue, every worth, renown'd ; 
Sincere, plain-hearted, hospitable, kind ; 
Yet like the mustering thunder when provok'd, 
The dread of tyrants, and the sole resource 
Of those that under grim oppression groan. 

Thy sons of glory many ! Alfred thine, 
In whom the splendour of heroic war, 1480 

And more heroic peace, when goA^ern'd well, 
Combine ; whose hallow'd name the virtues saint, 
And his own muses love — the best of kings. 
With him thy Edwards and thy Henries shine, 
Names dear to fame ; the first who deep impress'd 
On haughty Gaul the terror of thy arms, 
That awes her genius still. In statesmen thou, 
And patriots, fertile. Thine a steady More, 



148 SUMMER. 

Who, with a generous though mistaken zeal, 

Withstood a brutal tyrant's useful rage, 1490 

Like Cato firm, like Aristides just, 

Like rigid Cincinnatus nobly poor — 

A dauntless soul erect, who smil'd on death. 

Frugal and wise, a Walsingham is thine ; 

A Drake, who made thee mistress of the deep, 

And bore thy name in thunder round the world. 

Then nam'd thy spirit high : but who can speak 

The numerous worthies of the maiden-reign ? 

In Ralegh mark their every glory mix'd ; 

Ralegh, the scourge of Spain ! whose breast with all 

The sage, the patriot, and the hero burn'd. 1501 

Nor sunk his vigour when a coward reign 

The warrior fetter'd, and at last resign'd, 

To glut the vengeance of a vanquish'd foe. 

Then, active still and unrestrain'd, his mind 

Explor'd the vast extent of ages past, 

And with his prison-hours enrich'd the world ; 

Yet found no times, in all the long research, 

So glorious, or so base, as those he prov'd, 

In which he conquer 'd, and in which he bled. 1510 



SUMMER. 149 

Nor can the muse the gallant Sidney pass, 

The plume of war ! with early laurels crown'd, 

The lover's myrtle, and the poet's bay. 

A Hampden too is thine, illustrious land, 

Wise, strenuous, firm, of unsubmitting soul, 

Who stemm'd the torrent of a downward age 

To slavery prone, and bade thee rise again, 

In all thy native pomp of freedom bold. 

Bright, at his call, thy age of men effulg'd ; 

Of men on whom late time a kindling eye 1520 

Shall turn, and tyrants tremble while they read. 

Bring every sweetest flower, and let me strew 

The grave where Russell lies ; whose temper'd blood, 

With calmest cheerfulness for thee resign'd, 

Stain'd the sad annals of a giddy reign — 

Aiming at lawless power, though meanly sunk 

In loose inglorious luxury. With him 

His friend, the British Cassius 16 , fearless bled ; 

Of high determin'd spirit, roughly brave, 

By ancient learning to the enlighten'd love 1530 

Of ancient freedom warm'd. Fair thy renown 

In awful sages and in noble bards ; 



150 SUMMER. 

Soon as the light of dawning science spread 

Her orient ray, and wak'd the muses' song. 

Thine is a Bacon, hapless in his choice ; 

Unfit to stand the civil storm of state, 

And through the smooth barbarity of courts, 

With firm but pliant virtue, forward still 

To urge his course. Him for the studious shade 

Kind Nature form'd, deep, comprehensive, clear, 

Exact, and elegant ; in one rich soul, 1541 

Plato, the Stagy rite, and Tully join'd. 

The great deliverer he ! who from the gloom 

Of cloister'd monks, and jargon-teaching schools, 

Led forth the true philosophy, there long 

Held in the magic chain of words and forms, 

And definitions void : he led her forth, 

Daughter of heaven ! that slow-ascending still, 

Investigating sure the chain of things, 

With radiant finger points to heaven again. 1550 

The generous Ashley 17 thine, the friend of man ; 

Who scann'd his nature with a brother's eye, 

His weakness prompt to shade, to raise his aim, 

To touch the finer movements of the mind, 



SUMMEK. 151 

And with the moral beauty charm the heart. 

Why need I name thy Boyle, whose pious search, 

Amid the dark recesses of his works, 

The great Creator sought ? And why thy Locke, 

Who made the whole internal world his own ? 

Let Newton, pure intelligence, whom God 1560 

To mortals lent, to trace Iris boundless works 

From laws sublimely simple, speak thy fame 

In all philosophy. For lofty sense, 

Creative fancy, and inspection keen 

Through the deep windings of the human heart, 

Is not wild Shakspere thine and Nature's boast ? 

Is not each great, each amiable muse 

Of classic ages, in thy Milton met ? 

A genius universal as his theme, 

Astonishing as chaos, as the bloom 1570 

Of blowing Eden fair, as heaven sublhne. 

Nor shall my verse that elder bard forget, 

The gentle Spenser, fancy's pleasing son, 

Who, like a copious river, pour'd his song 

O'er all the mazes of enchanted ground ; 

Nor thee, his ancient master, laughing sage, 



152 SUMMER, 

Chaucer, whose native manners-painting verse, 
Well moralis'd, shines through the Gothic cloud 
Of time and language o'er thy genius thrown. 

May my song soften, as thy daughters I, 1580 

Britannia, hail ! for beauty is their own, 
The feeling heart, simplicity of life, 
And elegance, and taste ; the faultless form, 
Shap'd by the hand of harmony ; the cheek, 
Where the live crimson, through the native white 
Soft-shooting, o'er the face diffuses bloom, 
And every nameless grace ; the parted lip, 
Like the red rose-bud moist with morning dew, 
Breathing delight ; and, under flowing jet, 
Or sunny ringlets, or of circling brown, 1590 

The neck slight-shaded, and the swelling breast ; 
The look resistless, piercing to the soul, 
And by the soul inform'd, when drest in love 
She sits high-smiling in the conscious eye. 

Island of bliss ! amid the subject seas 
That thunder round thy rocky coasts, set up, 
At once the wonder, terror, and delight, 
Of distant nations ; whose remotest shore 



SUMMER, 153 

Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm ; 

Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults 1600 

Baffling, like thy hoar cliffs the loud sea-wave. 

O Thou by whose almighty nod the scale 
Of empire rises, or alternate falls, 
Send forth the saving virtues round the land, 
In bright patrol : white peace, and social love ; 
The tender-looking charity, intent 
On gentle deeds, and shedding tears through smiles ; 
Undaunted truth, and dignity of mind ; 
Courage compos'd, and keen ; sound temperance, 
Healthful in heart and look ; clear chastity, lelo 

With blushes reddening as she moves along, 
Disorder'd at the deep regard she draws ; 
Rough industry ; activity untir'd, 
With copious life inform'd, and all awake ; 
While in the radiant front, superior shines 
That first paternal virtue, public zeal — 
Who throws o'er all an equal wide survey, 
And, ever musing on the common weal, 
Still labours glorious with some great design. 

Low walks the sun, and broadens by degrees, 1620 



154 



SUMMER. 



Just o'er the verge of day. The shifting clouds 

Assembled gay, a richly gorgeous train, 

In all their pomp attend his setting throne. 

Air, earth, and ocean, smile immense. And now, 

As if his weary chariot sought the bowers 

Of Amphitrite and her tending nymphs, 

(So Grecian fable sung) he dips his orb ; 




SUMMER. 155 

Now half-immers'd ; and now a golden curve 
Gives one bright glance, then total disappears. 

For ever running an enchanted round, 1630 

Passes the day, deceitful, vain, and void ; 
As fleets the vision o'er the formful brain, 
This moment hurrying wild the impassion'd soul, 
The next in nothing lost. 'Tis so to him, 
The dreamer of this earth, an idle blank : 
A sight of horror to the cruel wretch 
Who, all day long in sordid pleasure roll'd, 
Himself an useless load, has squander'd vile, 
Upon his scoundrel train, what might have cheer'd *S 
A drooping family of modest worth. 1640 

But to the generous still-improving mind, 
That gives the hopeless heart to sing for joy, 
Diffusing kind beneficence around, 
Boastless, as now descends the silent dew — 
To him the long review of order'd life 
Is inward rapture, only to be felt. 

Confess'd from yonder slow-extinguish'd clouds, 
All ether softening, sober evening takes 
Her wonted station in the middle air ; 



156 SUMMER. 

A thousand shadows at her beck. First this 1650 

She sends on earth ; then that of deeper dye 

Steals soft behind ; and then a deeper still, 

In circle following circle, gathers round, 

To close the face of things. A fresher gale 

Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream, 

Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn ; 

While the quail clamours for his running mate. 

Wide o'er the thistly lawn, as swells the breeze, 

A whitening shower of vegetable down 

Amusive floats. The kind impartial care 1660 

Of Nature nought disdains : thoughtful to feed 

Her lowest sons, and clothe the coming year, 

From field to field the feather'd seeds she wings. 

His folded flock secure, the shepherd home 
Hies, merry-hearted ; and by turns relieves 
The ruddy milk maid of her brimming pail ; 
The beauty whom perhaps his witless heart, 
Unknowing what the joy-mix'd anguish means, 
Sincerely loves, by that best language shown 
Of cordial glances and obliging deeds. 1670 

Onward they pass, o'er many a panting height, 











SI 



And valley sunk, and unfrequented ; where 
\ At fall of eve the fairy people throng, 
In various game and revelry to pass 
~% The summer night, as village stories tell. 
But far about they wander from the grave 





158 SUMMER. 

Of him, whom his ungentle fortune urg'd 

Against his own sad breast to lift the hand 

Of impious violence. The lonely tower 

Is also slumn'd; whose mournful chambers hold, 1680 

So night-struck fancy dreams, the yelling ghost. 

Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge, 
The glow worm lights his gem ; and, through the dark, 
A moving radiance twinkles. Evening yields 
The world to night ; not in her winter robe 
Of massy Stygian woof, but loose-array'd 
In mantle dun. A faint erroneous ray, 
Glanc'd from the imperfect surfaces of things, 
Flings half an image on the straining eye ; 
While wavering woods, and villages, and streams, 1690 
And rocks, and mountain tops, that long retain'd 
The ascending gleam, are all one swimming scene, 
Uncertain if beheld. Sudden to heaven 
Thence weary vision turns ; where, leading soft 
The silent hours of love, with purest ray 
Sweet Venus shines ; and from her genial rise 
When day light sickens, till it springs afresh, 
Unrivall'd reigns, the fairest lamp of night. 




As thus the effulgence tremulous I drink 

With cherish'd gaze, the lambent lightnings shoot 

Across the sky ; or horizontal dart, 

In wondrous shapes — by fearful murmuring crowds 

Portentous deem'd. Amid the radiant orbs 

That more than deck, that animate the sky, 

The life-infusing suns of other worlds, 

Lo ! from the dread immensity of space 

Returning, with accelerated course, 

The rushing comet to the sun descends ; 

And as he sinks below the shading earth, 

With awful train projected o'er the heavens 

The guilty nations tremble. But, above 




160 SUMMEK. 

Those superstitious horrors that enslave 

The fond sequacious herd, to mystic faith 

And blind amazement prone, the enlighten'd few, 

Whose godlike minds philosophy exalts, 

The glorious stranger hail. They feel a joy 

Divinely great : they in their powers exult, 

That wondrous force of thought which mounting spurns 

This dusky spot and measures all the sky, 

While from his far excursion through the wilds 1720 

Of barren ether, faithful to his time, 

They see the blazing wonder rise anew, 

In seeming terror clad, but kindly bent 

To work the will of all-sustaining Love ; 

From his huge vapoury train perhaps to shake 

Reviving moisture on the numerous orbs 

Through which his long ellipsis winds — perhaps 

To lend new fuel to declining suns, 

To light up worlds, and feed the eternal fire. 

With thee, serene philosophy, with thee, 1730 

And thy bright garland, let me crown my song ! 
Effusive source of evidence, and truth ! 
A lustre shedding o'er the ennobled mind, 



SUMMER. 161 

Stronger than summer noon ; and pure as that 

Whose mild vibrations soothe the parted soul, 

New to the dawning of celestial day. 

Hence through her nourish'd powers, enlarg'd by thee, 

She springs aloft, with elevated pride, 

Above the tangling mass of low desires 

That bind the fluttering crowd ; and, angel-wing'd, 

The heights of science and of virtue gains, 1741 

Where all is cahn and clear ; with nature round, 

Or in the starry regions, or the abyss, 

To reason's and to fancy's eye display 'd : 

The first up-tracing, from the dreary void, 

The chain of causes and effects to him, 

The world-producing Essence, who alone 

Possesses being ; while the last receives 

The whole magnificence of heaven and earth, 

And every beauty, delicate or bold, 1750 

Obvious or more remote, with livelier sense, 

Diffusive painted on the rapid mind. 

Tutor'd by thee, hence poetry exalts 
Her voice to ages ; and informs the page 
With music, image, sentiment, and thought, 



162 SUMMEK. 

Never to die ! the treasure of mankind, 
Their highest honour, and their truest joy ! 

Without thee, what were unenlighten'd man ? 
A savage roaming through the woods and wilds, 
In quest of prey ; and with the unfashion'd fur 1760 

Rough-clad ; devoid of every finer art, 
And elegance of life. Nor happiness 
Domestic, mix'd of tenderness and care, 
Nor moral excellence, nor social bliss, 
Nor guardian law, were his ; nor various skill 
To turn the furrow, or to guide the tool 
Mechanic ; nor the heaven-conducted prow 
Of navigation bold, that fearless braves 
The burning line or dares the wintry pole, 
Mother severe of infinite delights ! 1770 

Nothing, save rapine, indolence, and guile, 
And woes on woes, a still revolving train ! 
Whose horrid circle had made human life 
Than non-existence worse : but, taught by thee, 
Ours are the plans of policy and peace ; 
To live like brothers, and conjunctive all 
Embellish life. While thus laborious crowds 



SUMMER. 163 

Ply the tough oar, philosophy directs 

The ruling helm ; or, like the liberal breath 

Of potent heaven, invisible, the sail i?so 

Swells out, and bears the inferior world along. 

Nor to this evanescent speck of earth 
Poorly confin'cl — the radiant tracts on high 
Are her exalted range ; intent to gaze 
Creation through ; and, from that full complex 
Of never-ending wonders, to conceive 
Of the Sole Being right, who spoke the word, 
And nature mov'd complete. With inward view, 
Thence on the ideal kingdom swift she turns 
Her eye; and instant, at her powerful glance, 1790 

The obedient phantoms vanish or appear ; 
Compound, divide, and into order shift, 
Each to his rank, from plain perception up 
To the fair forms of fancy's fleeting train ; 
To reason then, deducing truth from truth, 
And notion quite abstract ; where first begins 
The world of spirits, action all, and life 
Unfetter'd, and unmix'd. But here the cloudy 
So wills Eternal Providence, sits deep. 



164 



SUMMER. 



Enough for us to know that this dark state, 1800 

In wayward passions lost, and vain pursuits, 

This infancy of being, cannot prove 

The final issue of the works of God, 

By boundless Love and perfect Wisdom form'd, 

And ever rising with the rising mind. 1805 






m^K 



rown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, 
Wliile Autumn nodding o'er the yellow plain 
Comes jovial on, the Doric reed once more, 
Well pleas'd, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost 
Nitrous prepar'd — the various-blossom'd Spring 
Put in white promise forth — and summer suns 
Concocted strong — rush boundless now to view, 
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme. 

Onslow ! the muse, ambitious of thy name, 
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song, 



170 AUTUMN. 

Would from the public voice thy gentle ear 
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows, 
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought, 
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow ; 
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue, 
Devolving through the maze of eloquence 
A roll of periods sweeter than her song. 
But she too pants for public virtue ; she, 
Though weak of power yet strong in ardent will, 
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart, 20 

Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries 
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame. 

WTien the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days, 
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year, 
From heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook 
Of parting Summer, a serener blue, 
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests 
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise, 
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds 
A pleasing calm ; while broad, and brown, below 30 
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head. 
Rich, silent, deep, they stand ; for not a gale 



AUTUMN. 171 

Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain ; 

A calm of plenty ! till the ruffled air 

Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow. 

Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky ; 

The clouds fly different ; and the sudden sun 

By fits effulgent gilds the illumin'd field, 

And black by fits the shadows sweep along. 

A gaily chequer'd, heart-expanding view, 40 

Far as the circling eye can shoot around, 

Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn. 

These are thy blessings, industry ! rough power ! 
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain ; 
Yet the kind source of every gentle art, 
And all the soft civility of life : 
Raiser of human kind ! by Nature cast, 
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods 
And wilds, to rude inclement elements ; 
With various seeds of art deep in the mind so 

Implanted — and profusely pour'd around 
Materials infinite ; but idle all. 
Still unexerted, in the unconscious breast, 
Slept the lethargic powers ; corruption still, 



AUTUMN. 

Voracious, swallow'd what the liberal hand 
Of bounty scatter'd o'er the savage year ; 
And still the sad barbarian, roving, mix'd 
With beasts of prey ; or for his acorn-meal 
Fought the fierce tusky boar. A shivering wretch 
Aghast and comfortless when the bleak north, 
With winter charg'd, let the mix'd tempest fly, 






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AUTUMN. 173 

Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where, 

Supporting and supported, polish'd friends, 

And dear relations, mingle into bliss. 

But this the rugged savage never felt, 

Even desolate in crowds ; and thus his days 70 

Roll'd heavy, dark, and unenjoy'd, along : 

A waste of time ! till industry approach'd, 

And rous'd him from his miserable sloth ; 

His faculties unfolded ; pointed out 

Where lavish Nature the directing hand 

Of art demanded ; show'd him how to raise 

His feeble force by the mechanic powers ; 

To dig the mineral from the vaulted earth, 

On what to turn the piercing rage of fire, 

On what the torrent, and the gather'd blast ; so 

Gave the tall ancient forest to his axe ; 

Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone, 

Till by degrees the finish'd fabric rose ; 

Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur, 

And wrapt them in the woolly vestment warm, 

Or bright in glossy silk, and flowing lawn ; 

With wholesome viands fill'd his table, pour'd 



1 74 AUTUMN. 

The generous glass around, inspir'd to wake 

The life-refining soul of decent wit : 

Nor stopp'd at barren bare necessity ; 90 

But, still advancing bolder, led him on 

To pomp, to pleasure, elegance, and grace ; 

And, breathing high ambition through his soul, 

Set science, wisdom, glory, in his view, 

And bade him be the lord of all below. 

Then gathering men their natural powers combin'd, 
And form'd a public ; to the general good 
Submitting, aiming, and conducting all. 
For this the patriot council met, the full, 
The free, and fairly represented whole ; 100 

For this they plann'd the holy guardian laws, 
Distinguish'd orders, animated arts, 
And with joint force oppression chaining, set 
Imperial justice at the helm — yet still 
To them accountable : nor slavish dream'd 
That toiling millions must resign their weal, 
And all the honey of their search, to such 
As for themselves alone themselves have rais'd. 

Hence every form of cultivated life 



AUTUMN. 



175 



110 



In order set, protected, and inspir'd, 

Into perfection wrought. Uniting all, 

Society grew numerous, high, polite, 

And happy. Nurse of art ! the city rear'd 

In beauteous pride her tower-encircled head ; 

And, stretching street on street, by thousands drew, 

From twining woody haunts, or the tough yew 

To bows strong-straining, her aspiring sons. 

Then commerce brought into the public walk 
The busy merchant ; the big warehouse built ; 
Rais'd the strong crane ; chok'd up the loaded street 
With foreign plenty ; and thy stream, O Thames, 121 
Large, gentle, deep, majestic, king of floods ! 
Chose for his grand resort. On either hand, 




; "' ■' i7ftct(y ,/^~^— J 



176 AUTUMN. 

Like a long wintry forest, groves of masts 

Shot up their spires ; the bellying sheet between 

Possess'd the breezy void ; the sooty hulk 

Steer'd sluggish on ; the splendid barge along 

Row'd regular to harmony ; around, 

The boat, light-skimming, stretch'd its oary wings ; 

While deep the various voice of fervent toil 130 

From bank to bank increas'd ; whence, ribb'd with oak, 

To bear the British thunder, black and bold 

The roaring vessel rush'd into the main. 

Then too the pillar'd dome, magnific, heav'd 
Its ample roof : and luxury within 
Pour'd out her glittering stores : the canvass smooth, 
With glowing life protuberant, to the view 
Embodied rose ; the statue seem'd to breathe, 
And soften into flesh, beneath the touch 
Of forming art, imagination-flush'd. 140 

All is the gift of industry ; whate'er 
Exalts, embellishes, and renders life 
Delightful. Pensive Winter, cheer'd by him, 
Sits at the social fire, and happy hears 
The excluded tempest idly rave along ; 



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178 AUTUMN. 

At once they stoop and swell the lusty sheaves ; 

While through their cheerful band the rural talk, 

The rural scandal, and the rural jest, 

Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time, 160 

And steal unfelt the sultry hours away. 

Behind, the master walks ; builds up the shocks ; 

And, conscious, glancing oft on every side 

His sated eye, feels his heart heave with joy. 

The gleaners spread around ; and here and there, 

Spike after spike, their sparing harvest pick. 

Be not too narrow, husbandmen ! but fling 

From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth, 

The liberal handful. Think, oh grateful think ! 

How good the God of Harvest is to you ; 170 

Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields — 

While these unhappy partners of your kind 

Wide-hover round you, like the fowls of heaven, 

And ask their humble dole. The various turns 

Of fortune ponder ; that your sons may want 

What now, with hard reluctance, faint, ye give. 

The lovely young Lavinia once had friends ; 
And fortune smil'd, deceitful, on her birth. 



AUTUMN. 179 

For, in her helpless years depriv'd of all, 

Of every stay save innocence and Heaven, 180 

She, with her widow'd mother, feeble, old, 

And poor, liv'd in a cottage, far retir'd 

Among the windings of a woody vale ; 

By solitude and deep surrounding shades, 

But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd. 

Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn 

Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet 

From giddy fashion and low-minded pride ; 

Almost on Nature's common bounty fed, 

Like the gay birds that sung them to repose, 190 

Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare. 

Her form was fresher than the morning rose, 

When the dew wets its leaves ; unstain'd and pure, 

As is the lily, or the mountain snow. 

The modest virtues mingled in her eyes, 

Still on the ground dejected, darting all 

Their humid beams into the blooming flowers ; 

Or when the mournful tale her mother told, 

Of what her faithless fortune promis'd once, 

Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy star 200 



180 AUTUMN. 

Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace 

Sat fair-proportion'd on her polish'd limbs, 

Yeil'd in a simple robe, their best attire, 

Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness 

Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, 

But is when unadorn'd adorn'd the most. 

Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self, 

Recluse amid the close-embowering woods. 

As in the hollow breast of Apennine, 

Beneath the shelter of encircling hills, 210 

A myrtle rises, far from human eye, 

And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild, 

So flourish'd blooming, and unseen by all, 

The sweet Lavinia ; till, at length, compell'd 

By strong necessity's supreme command, 

With smiling patience in her looks, she went 

To glean Palemon's fields. The pride of swains 

Palemon was, the generous, and the rich ; 

Who led the rural life in all its joy 

And elegance, such as Arcadian song 220 

Transmits from ancient uncorrupted times — 

When tyrant custom had not shackled man, 




<••'■„* / i 



182 AUTUMN. 

He saw her charming, but he saw not half 
The charms her downcast modesty conceal'd. 230 

That very moment love and chaste desire 
Sprung in his bosom, to himself unknown ; 
For still the Avorld prevail'd, and its dread laugh, 
Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn, 
Should his heart own a gleaner in the field ; 
And thus in secret to his soul he sigh'd : 
" What pity ! that so delicate a form, 
By beauty kindled, where enlivening sense 
And more than vulgar goodness seem to dwell, 
. Should be devoted to the rude embrace 240 

Of some indecent clown ! She looks, methinks, 
Of old Acasto's line ; and to my mind 
Recalls that patron of my happy life, 
From whom my liberal fortune took its rise ; 
Now to the dust gone down — his houses, lands, 
And once fair-spreading family, dissolv'd. 
'Tis said that in some lone obscure retreat, 
Urg'd by remembrance sad, and decent pride, 
Far from those scenes which knew their better days, 
His aged widow and his daughter live, 250 



AUTUMN. 183 

Whom yet my fruitless search could never find. 
Romantic wish, would this the daughter were ! " 

When, strict inquiring, from herself he found 
She was the same, the daughter of his friend, 
Of bountiful Acasto — who can speak 
The mingled passions that surpris'd his heart, 
And through his nerves in shivering transport ran ? 
Then blaz'd his smother'd flame, avow'd and bold ; 
And as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er, 
Love, gratitude, and pity wept at once. 260 

Confus'd, and frighten'd at his sudden tears, 
Her rising beauties flush'd a higher bloom, 
As thus Palemon, passionate and just, 
Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul : 

" And art thou then Acasto's dear remains ? 
She whom my restless gratitude has sought 
So long in vain ? Oh yes ! the very same, 
The soften'd image of my noble friend ; 
Alive, his every feature, every look, 
More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than Spring ! 270 
Thou sole surviving blossom from the root 
That nourish'd up my fortune, say, ah where, 



184 AUTUMN. 

In what sequester'd desert, hast thou drawn 
The kindest aspect of delighted heaven ? 
Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair ; 
Though poverty's cold wind, and crushing rain, 
Beat keen, and heavy, on thy tender years ! 
Oh let me now, into a richer soil, 
Transplant thee safe ! where vernal suns and showers 
Diffuse their warmest, largest influence ; 230 

And of my garden be the pride and joy ! 
It ill befits thee, oh, it ill befits 
Acasto's daughter — his whose open stores, 
Though vast, were little to his ampler heart, 
The father of a country, thus to pick 
The very refuse of those harvest-fields 
Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy. 
Then throw that shameful pittance from thy hand, 
But ill-applied to such a rugged task : 
The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine ; 290 

If to the various blessings which thy house 
Has on me lavish'd, thou wilt add that bliss, 
That dearest bliss, the power of blessing thee ! " 
Here ceas'd the youth : yet still his speaking eye 



AUTUMN. 185 

Express'd the sacred triumph of his soul, 

With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love, 

Above the vulgar joy divinely rais'd. 

Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm 

Of goodness irresistible, and all 

In sweet disorder lost, she blush'd consent. 300 

The news immediate to her mother brought, 

While, pierc'd with anxious thought, she pin'd away 

The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate — 

Amaz'd, and scarce believing what she heard, 

Joy seiz'd her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam 

Of setting life shone on her evening-hours : 

Not less enraptur'd than the happy pair ; 

Who flourished long in tender bliss, and rear'd 

A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves, 

And good, the grace of all the country round. 310 

Defeating oft the labours of the year, 
The sultry south collects a potent blast. 
At first, the groves are scarcely seen to stir 
Their trembling tops, and a still murmur runs 
Along the soft-inclining fields of corn ; 
But as the aerial tempest fuller swells, 



186 AUTUMN. 

And in one mighty stream, invisible, 

Immense, the whole excited atmosphere 

Impetuous rushes o'er the sounding world, 

Strain'd to the root, the stooping forest pours 320 

A rustling shower of yet untimely leaves. 

High-beat, the circling mountains eddy in, 

From the bare wild, the dissipated storm, 

And send it in a torrent down the vale. 

Expos'd, and naked, to its utmost rage, 

Through all the sea of harvest rolling round, 

The billowy plain floats wide ; nor can evade, 

Though pliant to the blast, its seizing force — 

Or whirl'd in air, or into vacant chaff 

Shook waste. And sometimes too a burst of rain, 

Swept from the black horizon, broad, descends 331 

In one continuous flood. Still over head 

The mingling tempest weaves its gloom, and still 

The deluge deepens ; till the fields around 

Lie sunk, and flatted, in the sordid wave. 

Sudden, the ditches swell ; the meadows swim. 

Red, from the hills, innumerable streams, 

Tumultuous roar ; and high above its banks 



AUTUMN. 187 

The river lift ; before whose rushing tide, 

Herds, flocks, and harvests, cottages, and swains, 340 

Roll mingled down : all that the winds had spar'd, 

In one wild moment ruin'd ; the big hopes, 

And well-earn'd treasures, of the painful year. 

Fled to some eminence, the husbandman, 

Helpless, beholds the miserable wreck 

Driving along ; his drowning ox at once 

Descending, with his labours scatter'd round, 

He sees ; and instant o'er his shivering thought 

Comes Winter unprovided, and a train 

Of clamant children dear. Ye masters, then, 350 

Be mindful of the rough laborious hand 

That sinks you soft in elegance and ease ; 

Be mindful of those limbs, in russet clad, 

Whose toil to yours is warmth and graceful pride ; 

And, oh, be mindful of that sparing board 

Which covers yours with luxury profuse, 

Makes your glass sparkle, and your sense rejoice ! 

Nor cruelly demand what the deep rains 

And all-involving winds have swept away. 

Here the rude clamour of the sportsman's joy, 360 





The gun fast-thundering, and the winded horn, 
jjL Would tempt the muse to sing the rural game : 
fi How, in his mid-career, the spaniel struck, 
Stiff, by the tainted gale, with open nose, 
Outstretch'd and finely sensible, draws full, 
Fearful, and cautious, on the latent prey ; 
As in the sun the circling covey bask 
Their varied plumes, and, watchful every way, 
Through the rough stubble turn the secret eye. 
Caught in the meshy snare, in vain they beat 
Their idle wings, entangled more and more : 







AUTUMN. 189 

Nor on the surges of the boundless air, 
Though borne triumphant, are they safe ; the gun, 
Glanc'd just and sudden from the fowler's eye, 
O'ertakes their sounding pinions ; and, again, 
Immediate brings them from the towering wing, 
Dead to the ground ; or drives them wide-dispers'd, 
Wounded, and wheeling various, down the wind. 

These are not subjects for the peaceful muse, 
Nor will she stain with such her spotless song ; 380 

Then most delighted, when she social sees 
The whole mix'd animal creation round 
Alive and happy. 'Tis not joy to her, 
This falsely cheerful, barbarous game of death ; 
This rage of pleasure, which the restless youth 
Awakes, impatient, with the gleaming morn ; 
When beasts of prey retire, that all night long, 
Urg'd by necessity, had rang'd the dark, 
As if their conscious ravage shunn'd the light, 
Asham'd. Not so the steady tyrant man, 390 

Who with the thoughtless insolence of power 
Inflam'd, beyond the most infuriate wrath 
Of the worst monster that e'er roam'd the waste, 



190 AUTUMN. 

For sport alone pursues the cruel chase, 

Amid the beamings of the gentle days. 

Upbraid, ye ravening tribes, our wanton rage, 

For hunger kindles you, and lawless want ; 

But lavish fed, in Nature's bounty roll'd, 

To joy at anguish, and delight in blood, 

Is what your horrid bosoms never knew. 400 

Poor is the triumph o'er the timid hare ! 
Scar'd from the corn, and now to some lone seat 
Retir'd : the rushy fen ; the ragged furze, 
Stretch'd o'er the stony heath ; the stubble chapp'd ; 
The thistly lawn ; the thick entangled broom ; 
Of the same friendly hue, the wither'd fern ; 
The fallow ground laid open to the sun, 
Concoctive ; and the nodding sandy bank, 
Hung o'er the mazes of the mountain brook. 
Vain is her best precaution; though she sits 410 

Conceal'd, with folded ears ; unsleeping eyes, 
By Nature rais'd to take the horizon in ; 
And head couch'd close betwixt her hairy feet, 
In act to spring away. The scented dew 
Betrays her early labyrinth ; and deep, 



AUTUMN. 



191 



In scatter'd sullen openings, far behind, 

With every breeze she hears the coming storm. 

But nearer, and more frequent, as it loads 

The sighing gale, she springs amaz'd, and all 

The savage soul of game is up at once : 

The pack full-opening, various ; the shrill horn, 

Resounded from the hills ; the neighing steed, 

Wild for the chase ; and the loud hunter's shout ; 



420 




192 AUTUMN. 

O'er a weak, harmless, flying creature, all 
Mix'd in mad tumult, and discordant joy. 

The stag too, singled from the herd, where long 
He rang'd the branching monarch of the shades, 
Before the tempest drives. At first, in speed 
He, sprightly, puts his faith ; and, rous'd by fear, 
Gives all his swift aerial soul to flight. 430 

Against the breeze he darts, that way the more 
To leave the lessening murderous cry behind : 
Deception short ! though, fleeter than the winds 
Blown o'er the keen-air'd mountain by the north, 
He bursts the thickets, glances through the glades, 
And plunges deep into the wildest wood — 
If slow, yet sure, adhesive to the track 
Hot-steaming, up behind him come again 
The inhuman rout, and from the shady depth 
Expel him, circling through his every shift. 440 

He sweeps the forest oft ; and sobbing sees 
The glades, mild-opening to the golden day, 
Where, in kind contest, with his butting friends 
He wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy. 
Oft in the full-descending flood he tries 




To lose the scent, and lave his burning sides ; 
Oft seeks the herd : the watchful herd, alarm'd, 
With selfish care avoid a brother's woe. 
What shall he do ? His once so vivid nerves, 
So full of buoyant spirit, now no more 
Inspire the course ; but fainting breathless toil, 
Sick, seizes on his heart : he stands at bay ; $0$% 
And puts his last weak refuge in despair. >S 

The big round tears run down his dappled face ; 
He groans in anguish ; while the growling pack, 
Blood-happy, hang at his fair jutting chest, 




194 AUTUMN. 

And mark his beauteous chequer'd sides with gore. 

Of this enough. But if the sylvan youth 
Whose fervent blood boils into violence 
Must have the chase — behold, despising flight, 460 

The rous'd-up lion, resolute and slow, 
Advancing full on the protended spear, 
And coward band, that circling wheel aloof. 
Slunk from the cavern, and the troubled wood, 
See the grim wolf — on him his shaggy foe 
Vindictive fix, and let the ruffian die ; 
Or, growling horrid, as the brindled boar 
Grins fell destruction, to the monster's heart 
Let the dart lighten from the nervous arm. 

These Britain knows not ; give, ye Britons, then 
Your sportive fury, pitiless, to pour 471 

Loose on the nightly robber of the fold : 
Him, from his craggy winding haunts unearth'd, 
Let all the thunder of the chase pursue. 
Throw the broad ditch behind you ; o'er the hedge 
High-bound, resistless ; nor the deep morass 
Refuse, but through the shaking wilderness 
Pick your nice way ; into the perilous flood 



AUTUMN. 195 

Bear fearless, of the raging instinct full — 

And as you ride the torrent, to the banks 480 

Your triumph sound sonorous, running round, 

From rock to rock, in circling echo toss'd ; 

Then scale the mountains to their woody tops ; 

Rush down the dangerous steep ; and o'er the lawn, 

In fancy swallowing up the space between, 

Pour all your speed into the rapid game. 

For happy he who tops the wheeling chase ; 

Has every maze evolv'd, and every guile 

Disclos'd ; who knows the merits of the pack ; 

Who saw the villain seiz'd, and dying hard, 490 

Without complaint, though by an hundred mouths 

Relentless torn : oh glorious he, beyond 

His daring peers ! when the retreating horn 

Calls them to ghostly halls of grey renown, 

With woodland honours grac'd ; the fox's fur, 

Depending decent from the roof; and, spread 

Round the drear walls, with antic figures fierce, 

The stag's large front : he then is loudest heard, 

When the night staggers with severer toils, 

With feats Thessalian centaurs never knew, 500 



AUTUMN. 197 

While hence they borrow vigour : or amain 

Into the pasty plung'd, at intervals, 

If stomach keen can intervals allow, 5io 

Relating all the glories of the chase. 

Then sated hunger bids his brother thirst 

Produce the mighty bowl ; the mighty bowl, 

Swell'd high with fiery juice, steams liberal round 

A potent gale, delicious as the breath 

Of Maia to the love-sick shepherdess, 

On violets diffus'd, while soft she hears 

Her panting shepherd stealing to her arms. 

Nor wanting is the brown October, drawn, 

Mature and perfect, from his dark retreat 520 

Of thirty years ; and now his honest front 

Flames in the light refulgent, not afraid 

Even with the vineyard's best produce to vie. 

To cheat the thirsty moments, whist a while 

Walks his grave round, beneath a cloud of smoke, 

Wreath'd fragrant from the pipe ; or the quick dice, 

In thunder leaping from the box, awake 

The sounding gammon ; while romp-loving miss 

Is haul'd about, in gallantry robust. 



AUTUMN. 

At last these puling idlenesses laid 530 

Aside, frequent and full, the dry divan 
Close in firm circle ; and set, ardent, in 
For serious drinking. Nor evasion sly, 
Nor sober shift, is to the puking wretch 
Indulg'd apart ; but earnest, brimming bowls 
Lave every soul, the table floating round, 
And pavement, faithless to the fuddled foot. 
Thus as they swim in mutual swill, the talk, 
Vociferous at once from twenty tongues, 
Reels fast from theme to theme ; from horses, hounds, 
To church or mistress, politics or ghost, 54 1 

In endless mazes, intricate, perplex'd. 
Meantime, with sudden interruption, loud, 
The impatient catch bursts from the joyous heart : 
That moment, touch'd is each congenial soul ; 
And, opening in a full-mouth'd cry of joy, 
The laugh, the slap, the jocund curse goes round ; 
While, from their slumbers shook, the kennel'd hounds 
Mix in the music of the day again. 
As when the tempest, that has vex'd the deep 550 

The dark night long, with fainter murmurs falls ; 



AUTUMN. 199 

So gradual sinks their mirth. Their feeble tongues, 

Unable to take up the cumbrous word, 

Lie quite dissolv'd. Before their maudlin eyes, 

Seen dim and blue, the double tapers dance, 

Like the sun wading through the misty sky. 

Then, sliding soft, they drop. Confus'd above, 

Glasses and bottles, pipes and gazetteers, 

As if the table even itself was drunk, 

Lie a wet broken scene ; and wide, below, 560 

Is heap'd the social slaughter — where astride 

The lubber power in filthy triumph sits, 

Slumbrous, inclining still from side to side, 

And steeps them drench'd in potent sleep till morn. 

Perhaps some doctor, of tremendous paunch, 

Awful and deep, a black abyss of drink, 

Outlives them all ; and from his buried flock 

Retiring, full of rumination sad, 

Laments the weakness of these latter times. 

But if the rougher sex by this fierce sport 570 

Is hurried wild, let not such horrid joy 
E'er stain the bosom of the British fair. 
Far be the spirit of the chase from them ! 



200 AUTUMN. 

Uncomely courage, unbeseeming skill, 

To spring the fence, to rein the prancing steed — 

The cap, the whip, the masculine attire, 

In which they roughen to the sense, and all 

The winning softness of their sex is lost. 

In them 'tis graceful to dissolve at woe ; 

With every motion, every word, to wave 580 

Quick o'er the kindling cheek the ready blush ; 

And from the smallest violence to shrink, 

Unequal, then the loveliest in their fears — 

And by this silent adulation, soft, 

To their protection more engaging man. 

Oh may their eyes no miserable sight, 

Save weeping lovers, see ! a nobler game, 

Through love's enchanting wiles pursu'd, yet fled, 

In chase ambiguous. May their tender limbs 

Float in the loose simplicity of dress ! 590 

And, fashion'd all to harmony, alone 

Know they to seize the captivated soul, 

In rapture warbled from love-breathing lips ; 

To teach the lute to languish ; with smooth step, 

Disclosing motion in its every charm, 



To swim along, and swell the mazy dance 
To train the foliage o'er the snowy lawn ; 
To guide the pencil, turn the tuneful page ; 
To lend new flavour to the fruitful year, 
& T * And heighten Nature's dainties ; in their race, 
To rear their graces into second life ; t i v 
To give society its highest taste ; 




-^<sS^ 



202 AUTUMN. 

Well-order'd home, man's best delight to make ; 

And by submissive wisdom, modest skill, 

With every gentle care-eluding art, 

To raise the virtues, animate the bliss, 

Even charm the pains to something more than joy, 

And sweeten all the toils of human life : 

This be the female dignity, and praise. 

Ye swains, now hasten to the hazel bank ; 6io 

Where, down yon dale, the wildly winding brook 
Falls hoarse from steep to steep. In close array, 
Fit for the thickets and the tangling shrub, 
Ye virgins, come. For you their latest song 
The woodlands raise ; the clustering nuts for you 
The lover finds amid the secret shade ; 




AUTUMN. 203 

And, where they burnish on the topmost bough, 

With active vigour crushes down the tree ; 

Or shakes them ripe from the resigning husk, 

A glossy shower, and of an ardent brown, eso 

As are the ringlets of Melinda's hair : 

Melinda, form'd with every grace complete, 

Yet these neglecting, above beauty wise, 

And far transcending such a vulgar praise. 

Hence from the busy joy-resounding fields, 
In cheerful error, let us tread the maze 
Of Autumn, unconfin'd ; and taste, reviv'd, 
The breath of orchard big with bending fruit. 
Obedient to the breeze and beating ray, 
From the deep-loaded bough a mellow shower 630 

Incessant melts away. The juicy pear 
Lies, in a soft profusion, scatter'd round. 
A various sweetness swells the gentle race ; 
By Nature's all-refining hand prepar'd, 
Of temper'd sun, and water, earth, and air, 
In ever-changing composition mix'd. 
Such, falling frequent through the chiller night, 
The fragrant stores, the wide-projected heaps 



204 AUTUMN. 

Of apples, which the lusty-handed year, 

Innuinerous, o'er the blushing orchard shakes. 640 

A various spirit, fresh, delicious, keen, 

Dwells in their gelid pores ; and, active, points 

The piercing cider for the thirsty tongue : 

Thy native theme, and boon inspirer too, 

Philips, Pomona's bard, the second thou 

Who nobly durst, in rhyme-unfetter'd verse, 

With British freedom sing the British song; 

How, from Silurian vats, high-sparkling wines 

Foam in transparent floods — some strong, to cheer 

The wintry revels of the labouring hind, 650 

And tasteful some, to cool the summer hours. 

In this glad season, while his sweetest beams 
The sun sheds equal o'er the meeken'd day, 
Oh lose me in the green delightful walks 
Of, Dodington ! thy seat, serene and plain ; 
Where simple nature reigns ; and every view, 
Diffusive, spreads the pure Dorsetian downs, 
In boundless prospect — yonder shagg'd with wood, 
Here rich with harvest, and there white with flocks ! 
Meantime the grandeur of thy lofty dome, 660 



AUTUMN. 205 

Far-splendid, seizes on the ravish'd eye. 

New beauties rise with each revolving day ; 

New columns swell ; and still the fresh Spring finds 

New plants to quicken, and new groves to green. 

Full of thy genius all ! the muses' seat ; 

Where in the secret bower, and winding walk, 

For virtuous Young and thee they twine the bay. 

Here wandering oft, fir'cl with the restless thirst 

Of thy applause, I solitary court 

The inspiring breeze ; and meditate the book 67 o 

Of Nature, ever open — aiming thence, 

Warm from the heart, to learn the moral song. 

And, as I steal along the sunny wall, 

Where Autumn basks, with fruit empurpled deep, 

My pleasing theme continual prompts my thought : 

Presents the downy peach ; the shining plum, 

With a fine bluish mist of animals 

Clouded ; the ruddy nectarine ; and, dark 

Beneath his ample leaf, the luscious fig. 

The vine too here her curling tendrils shoots ; 680 

Hangs out her clusters, glowing to the south ; 

And scarcely wishes for a warmer sky. 




Turn we a moment fancy's rapid flight 
To vigorous soils, and climes of fair extent ; 
Where, by the potent sun elated high, 
The vineyard swells refulgent on the day ; 
Spreads o'er the vale ; or up the mountain climbs, 
Profuse ; and drinks amid the sunny rocks, 
From cliff to cliff increas'd, the heighten'd blaze. 
Low bend the weighty boughs. The clusters clear, 
Half through the foliage seen, or ardent flame, 
Or shine transparent ; while perfection breathes 
White o'er the turgent film the living dew. 
As thus they brighten with exalted juice, 
Touch'd into flavour by the mingling ray, 
The rural youth and virgins o'er the field, 



AUTUMN. 207 

Each fond for each to cull the autumnal prime, 

Exulting rove, and speak the vintage nigh. 

Then comes the crushing swain ; the country floats, 

And foams unbounded with the mashy flood ; roo 

That by degrees fermented, and refin'd, 

Round the rais'd nations pours the cup of joy : 

The claret smooth, red as the lip we press 

In sparkling fancy, while we drain the bowl ; 

The mellow-tasted burgundy ; and, quick 

As is the wit it gives, the gay champagne. 

Now, by the cool declining year condens'd, 
Descend the copious exhalations, check'd 
As up the middle sky unseen they stole, 
And roll the doubling fogs around the hill. 7io 

No more the mountain, horrid, vast, sublime, 
Who pours a sweep of rivers from his sides, 
And high between contending kingdoms rears 
The rocky long division, fills the view 
With great variety ; but in a night 
Of gathering vapour, from the baffled sense, 
Sinks dark and dreary. Thence expanding far, 
The huge dusk, gradual, swallows up the plain. 



208 AUTUMN. 

Vanish the woods. The dim-seen river seems 

Sullen, and slow, to roll the misty wave. 720 

Even in the height of noon oppress'd, the sun 

Sheds weak, and blunt, his wide-refracted ray ; 

Whence glaring oft, with many a broaden'd orb, 

He frights the nations. Indistinct on earth, 

Seen through the turbid air, beyond the life 

Objects appear — and, wilder'd, o'er the waste 

The shepherd stalks gigantic ; till at last 

Wreath'd dun around, in deeper circles still 

Successive closing, sits the general fog 

Unbounded o'er the world — and, mingling thick, 730 

A formless grey confusion covers all : 

As when of old (so sung the Hebrew bard) 

Light, uncollected, through the chaos urg'd 

Its infant way ; nor order yet had drawn 

His lovely train from out the dubious gloom. 

These roving mists, that constant now begin 
To smoke along the hilly country, these, 
With weighty rains, and melted alpine snows, 
The mountain-cisterns fill, those ample stores 
Of water, scoop'd among the hollow rocks ; 740 



AUTUMN. 



209 



Whence gush the streams, the ceaseless fountains play, 

And their unfailing wealth the rivers draw. 

Some sages say, that, where the numerous wave 

For ever lashes the resounding shore, 

Drill'd through the sandy stratum, every way, 

The waters with the sandy stratum rise ; 

Amid whose angles infinitely strain'd, 

They joyful leave their jaggy salts behind, 

And clear and sweeten as they soak along. 

Nor stops the restless fluid, mounting still, 750 

Though oft amidst the irriguous vale it springs ; 

But to the mountain courted by the sand, 

That leads it darkling on in faithful maze, 

Far from the parent-main, it boils again 

Fresh into day — and all the glittering hill 

Is bright with spouting rills. But hence this vain 

Amusive dream ! why should the waters love 

To take so far a journey to the hills, 

When the sweet valleys offer to their toil 

Inviting quiet, and a nearer bed ? 760 

Or if, by blind ambition led astray, 

They must aspire, why should they sudden stop 



210 AUTUMN. 

Among the broken mountain's rushy dells, 

And, ere they gain its highest peak, desert 

The attractive sand that charm'd their course so long ? 

Besides, the hard agglomerating salts, 

The spoil of ages, would impervious choke 

Their secret channels ; or, by slow degrees, 

High as the hills protrude the swelling vales : 

Old ocean too, suck'd through the porous globe, 770 

Had long ere now forsook his horrid bed, 

And brought Deucalion's watery times again. 

Say then, where lurk the vast eternal springs, 
That, like creating Nature, lie conceal'd 
From mortal eye, yet with their lavish stores 
Refresh the globe, and all its joyous tribes ? 
O thou pervading genius, given to man 
To trace the secrets of the dark abyss, 
Oh lay the mountains bare ; and wide display 
Their hidden structure to the astonish'd view ! 780 

Strip from the branching Alps their piny load ; 
The huge incumbrance of horrific woods 
From Asian Taurus, from Imaiis stretch'd 
Athwart the roving Tartar's sullen bounds ; 



AUTUMN. 211 

Give opening Hamius to my searching eye, 

And high Olympus l pouring many a stream ! 

Oh, from the sounding summits of the north, 

The Dofrine hills, through Scandinavia roll'd 

To farthest Lapland and the frozen main ; 

From lofty Caucasus, far seen by those 790 

Who in the Caspian and black Euxine toil ; 

From cold Rhipaean rocks, which the wild Russ 

Believes the stony girdle 2 of the world ; 

And all the dreadful mountains, wrapt in storm, 

Whence wide Siberia draws her lonely floods — 

Oh sweep the eternal snows ! Hung o'er the deep, 

That ever works beneath his sounding base, 

Bid Atlas, propping heaven, as poets feign, 

His subterranean wonders spread ; unveil 

The miny caverns, blazing on the day, 800 

Of Abyssinia's cloud-compelling cliffs, 

And of the bending Mountains of the Moon 3 ; 

O'ertopping all these giant sons of earth, 

Let the dire Andes, from the radiant line 

Stretch'd to the stormy seas that thunder round 

The southern pole, their hideous deeps unfold ! 



212 AUTUMN. 

Amazing scene ! Behold ! the glooms disclose : 

I see the rivers in their infant beds ; 

Deep, deep I hear them, labouring to get free. 

I see the leading strata, artful rang'd ; 8io 

The gaping fissures to receive the rains, 

The melting snows, and ever-dripping fogs. 

Strew'd bibulous above I see the sands, 

The pebbly gravel next, the layers then 

Of mingled moulds, of more retentive earths, 

The gutter'd rocks and mazy-running clefts ; 

That, while the stealing moisture they transmit, 

Retard its motion, and forbid its waste. 

Beneath the incessant weeping of these drains, 

I see the rocky siphons stretch'd immense, 820 

The mighty reservoirs, of harden'd chalk, 

Or stiff compacted clay, capacious form'd. 

O'ernowing thence, the congregated stores, 

The crystal treasures of the liquid world, 

Through the stirr'd sands a bubbling passage burst ; 

And welling out, around the middle steep, 

Or from the bottoms of the bosom'd hills, 

In pure effusion flow. United, thus, 



AUTUMN. 213 

The exhaling sun, the vapour-burden'd air, 

The gelid mountains, that to rain condens'd 830 

These vapours in continual current draw, 

And send them, o'er the fair-divided earth, 

In bounteous rivers to the deep again, 

A social commerce hold, and firm support 

The full-adjusted harmony of things. 

When Autumn scatters his departing gleams, 
Warn'd of approaching Winter, gather'd, play 
The swallow-people ; and toss'd wide around, 
O'er the calm sky, in convolution swift, 
The feather'd eddy floats : rejoicing once, ^40 

Ere to their wintry slumbers they retire — 
In clusters clung, beneath the mouldering bank, 
And where, unpierc'd by frost, the cavern sweats. 
Or rather into warmer climes convey'd, 
With other kindred birds of season, there 
They twitter cheerful, till the vernal months 
Invite them welcome back ; for, thronging, now 
Innumerous wings are in commotion all. 

Where the Rhine loses his majestic force 
In Belgian plains, won from the raging deep 8 50 



214 AUTUMN. 

By diligence amazing, and the strong 

Unconquerable hand of liberty, 

The stork-assembly meets ; for many a day, 

Consulting deep, and various, ere they take 

Their arduous voyage through the liquid sky. 

And now their route design'd, their leaders chose, 

Their tribes adjusted, clean'd their vigorous Avings — 

And many a circle, many a short essay, 

Wheel'd round and round — in congregation full 

The figur'd flight ascends ; and, riding high 860 

The aerial billows, mixes with the clouds. 

Or where the Northern Ocean, in vast whirls, 
Boils round the naked melancholy isles 
Of farthest Thule, and the Atlantic surge 
Pours in among the stormy Hebrides — 
Who can recount what transmigrations there 
Are annual made ? what nations come and go ? 
And how the living clouds on clouds arise ? 
Infinite wings ! till all the plume-dark air, 
And rude resounding shore, are one wild cry. 8 70 

Here the plain harmless native his small flock, 
And herd diminutive of many hues, 




Tends on the little island's verdant swell, 
The shepherd's sea-girt reign ; or, to the rocks 
Dire-clinging, gathers his ovarious food ; 
Or sweeps the fishy shore ; or treasures up 
The plumage, rising full, to form the bed 
Of luxury. And here a while the muse, 
High-hovering o'er the broad cerulean scene, 
Sees Caledonia, in romantic view : 
Her airy mountains, from the waving main, 
Invested with a keen diffusive sky, 
Breathing the soul acute ; her forests huge, 
Incult, robust, and tall, by Nature's hand 





216 AUTUMN. 

Planted of old ; her azure lakes between, 

Pour'd out extensive, and of watery wealth 

Full ; winding deep, and green, her fertile vales — 

With many a cool translucent brimming flood 

Wash'd lovely, from the Tweed (pure parent-stream, 

Whose pastoral, banks first heard my Doric reed, 890 

With, sylvan Jed, thy tributary brook) 

To where the north-inflated tempest foams 

O'er Orcas' or Berubium's highest peak. 

Nurse of a people, in misfortune's school 

Train'd up to hardy deeds ; soon visited 

By learning, when before the Gothic rage 

She took her western flight. A manly race, 

Of unsubmitting spirit, wise and brave ; 

Who still through bleeding ages struggled hard 

(As well unhappy Wallace can attest, 900 

Great patriot-hero ! ill-requited chief!) 

To hold a generous undiminish'd state — 

Too much in vain ! Hence of unequal bounds 

Impatient, and by tempting glory borne 

O'er every land, for every land their life 

Has flow'd profuse, their piercing genius plann'd, 



AUTUMN. 217 

And swelPd the pomp of peace their faithful toil : 
As from their own clear north, in radiant streams, 
Bright over Europe bursts the boreal morn. 

Oh ! is there not some patriot, in whose power 9 J 
That best, that godlike luxury is plac'd, 
Of blessing thousands, thousands yet unborn, 
Through late posterity ? some, large of soul, 
To cheer dejected industry, to give 
A double harvest to the pining swain, 
And teach the labouring hand the sweets of toil ? 
How, by the finest art, the native robe 
To weave ; how, white as hyperborean snow, 
To form the lucid lawn ; with venturous oar 
How to dash wide the billow ; nor look on, 920 

Shamefully passive, while Batavian fleets 
Defraud us of the glittering finny swarms, 
That heave our friths, and crowd upon our shores ; 
How all-enlivening trade to rouse, and wing 
The prosperous sail, from every growing port, 
Uninjur'd, round the sea-encircled globe ; 
And thus, in soul united as in name, 
Bid Britain reign the mistress of the deep ! 



218 AUTUMN. 

Yes, there are such. And full on thee, Argyle, 
Her hope, her stay, her darling, and her boast, 930 

From her first patriots and her heroes sprung, 
Thy fond imploring country turns her eye ; 
In thee, with all a mother's triumph, sees 
Her every virtue, every grace combin'd, 
Her genius, wisdom, her engaging turn, 
Her pride of honour, and her courage tried, 
Calm, and intrepid, in the very throat 
Of sulphurous war, on Taisniere's dreadful field. 
Nor less the palm of peace inwreathes thy brow : 
For, powerful as thy sword, from thy rich tongue 940 
Persuasion flows, and wins the high debate ; 
While mix'd in thee combine the charm of youth, 
The force of manhood, and the depth of age. 
Thee, Forbes, too, whom every worth attends, 
As truth sincere, as weeping friendship kind — 
Thee, truly generous, and in silence great, 
Thy country feels through her reviving arts, 
Plann'd by thy wisdom, by thy soul inform'd ; 
And seldom has she felt a friend like thee. 

But see the fading many-colour'd woods, 950 



AUTUMN. 219 

Shade deepening over shade, the country round 
Imbrown ; a crowded umbrage, dusk and dun, 
Of every hue from wan declining green 
To sooty dark. These now the lonesome muse, 
Low- whispering, lead into their leaf-strown walks ; 
And give the season in its latest view. 

Meantime, light-shadowing all, a, sober calm 
Fleeces unbounded ether ; whose least wave 
Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn 
The gentle current : while, illumin'd wide, 960 

The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun, 
And through their lucid veil his soften'd force 
Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time 
For those whom wisdom and whom nature charm 
To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd, 
And soar above this little scene of tilings ; 
To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet, 
To soothe the throbbing passions into peace, 
And woo lone quiet in her silent walks. 

Thus solitary, and in pensive guise, 970 

Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead, 
And through the sadden'd grove, where scarce is heard 




One dying strain to cheer the woodman's toil. 
Haply some widow'd songster pours his plaint, 'J\t 
Far, in faint warblings, through the tawny copse ; 
While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks, 
And each wild throat, whose artless strains so late 
Swell'd all the music of the swarming shades, 
Robb'd of their tuneful souls, now shivering sit 
On the dead tree, a dull despondent nock ! 
With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes, 
And nought save chattering discord in their note. 
Oh let not, aim'd from some inhuman eye, 
The ran the music of the coming vear 



AUTUMN. 221 

Destroy ; and harmless, unsuspecting harm, 

Lay the weak tribes, a miserable prey, 

In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground I 

The pale descending year, yet pleasing still, 
A gentler mood inspires ; for now the leaf 
Incessant rustles from the mournful grove — 990 

Oft startling such as, studious, walk below, 
And slowly circles through the waving air. 
But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs 
Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams ; 
Till chok'd, and matted with the dreary shower, 
The forest-walks, at every rising gale, 
Roll wide the wither'd waste, and whistle bleak. 
Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields ; 
And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery race 
Their sunny robes resign. Even what remain'd 1000 
Of bolder fruits falls from the naked tree ; 
And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around 
The desolated prospect thrills the soul. 

He comes ! he comes ! in every breeze the power 
Of philosophic melancholy comes ! 
His near approach the sudden-starting tear, 



222 AUTUMN. 

The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air, 

The soften'd feature, and the beating heart, 

Pierc'd deep with many a virtuous pang, declare. 

O'er all the soul his sacred influence breathes ; 1010 

Inflames imagination ; through the breast 

Infuses every tenderness ; and far 

Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought. 

Ten thousand thousand fleet ideas, such 

As never mingled with the vulgar dream, 

Crowd fast into the mind's creative eye. 

As fast the correspondent passions rise, 

As varied, and as high : devotion rais'd 

To rapture, and divine astonishment ; 

The love of nature unconfin'd, and, chief, 1020 

Of human race ; the large ambitious wish, 

To make them blest ; the sigh for suffering worth, 

Lost in obscurity ; the noble scorn 

Of tyrant-pride ; the fearless great resolve ; 

The wonder which the dying patriot draws, 

Inspiring glory through remotest time ; 

The awaken'd throb for virtue, and for fame ; 

The sympathies of love, and friendship dear ; 



AUTUMN. 223 

With all the social offspring of the heart. 

Oh! bear me then to vast embowering shades, 1030 
To twilight groves, and visionary vales, 
To weeping grottos, and prophetic glooms ! 
Where angel-forms athwart the solemn dusk 
Tremendous sweep, or seem to sweep, along ; 
And voices more than human, through the void 
Deep-sounding, seize the enthusiastic ear. 

Or is this gloom too much ? Then lead, ye powers 
That o'er the garden and the rural seat 
Preside, which shining through the cheerful land 
In countless numbers blest Britannia sees, lMO 

Oh lead me to the wide-extended walks, 
The fair majestic paradise of Stowe ! 
Not Persian Cyrus on Ionia's shore 
E'er saw such sylvan scenes ; such various art 
By genius fir'd, such ardent genius tam'd 
By cool judicious art — that, in the strife, 
All-beauteous Nature fears to be outdone. 
And there, O Pitt ! thy country's early boast, 
There let me sit beneath the shelter'd slopes, 
Or in that temple 4 where, in future times, 1050 



224 AUTUMN. 

Thou well shalt merit a distinguish'd name ; 

And, with thy converse blest, catch the last smiles 

Of Autumn beaming o'er the yellow woods. 

While there with thee the enchanted round I walk, 

The regulated wild, gay fancy then 

Will tread in thought the groves of Attic land ; 

Will from thy standard taste refine her own, 

Correct her pencil to the purest truth 

Of Nature, or, the unimpassion'cl shades 

Forsaking, raise it to the human mind. 1060 

Oh if hereafter she, with juster hand, 

Shall draw the tragic scene, instruct her thou, 

To mark the varied movements of the heart, 

What every decent character requires, 

And every passion speaks — oh ! through her strain 

Breathe thy pathetic eloquence ! that moulds 

The attentive senate, charms, persuades, exalts, 

Of honest zeal the indignant lightning throws, 

And shakes corruption on her venal throne. 

While thus we talk, and through Elysian vales 1070 

Delighted rove, perhaps a sigh escapes : 

What pity, Cobham, thou thy verdant files 



AUTUMN. 



225 



Of order'd trees should'st here inglorious range, 
Instead of squadrons naming o'er the field, 
And long-embattled hosts ! when the proud foe, 
The faithless vain disturber of mankind, 
Insulting Gaul, has rous'd the world to war ; 
When keen, once more, within their bounds to press 
Those polish'd robbers, those ambitious slaves, 
The British youth would hail thy wise command, 
Thy temper 'd ardour, and thy veteran skill. 

The western sun withdraws the shorten'd day ; 
And humid evening, gliding o'er the sky, 
In her chill progress, to the ground condens'd 
The vapours throws. Where creeping waters ooze, 
Where marshes stagnate, and where rivers wind, 
Cluster the rolling fogs, and swim along 



1080 




226 AUTUMN. 

The dusky-mantled lawn, Meanwhile the moon, 
Full-orb'd and breaking through the scatter'd clouds, 
Shows her broad visage in the crimson'd east. 1090 

Turn'd to the sun direct, her spotted disk, 
Where mountains rise, umbrageous dales descend, 
And caverns deep, as optic tube descries, 
A smaller earth, gives all his blaze again, 
Void of its name, and sheds a softer day. 
Now through the passing cloud she seems to stoop, 
Now up the pure cerulean rides sublime. 
Wide the pale deluge floats, and streaming mild 
O'er the skied mountain to the shadowy vale, 
While rocks and floods reflect the quivering gleam, 
The whole air whitens with a boundless tide 1101 

Of silver radiance, trembling round the world. 

But when half -blotted from the sky her light, 
Fainting, permits the starry fires to burn 
With keener lustre through the depth of heaven — 
Or quite extinct her deaden'd orb appears, 
And scarce appears, of sickly beamless white — 
Oft in this season, silent from the north 
A blaze of meteors shoots : ensweeping first 



AUTUMN. 227 

The lower skies, they all at once converge 1110 

High to the crown of heaven, and all at once 

Relapsing quick as quickly re-ascend, 

And mix, and thwart, extinguish, and renew — 

All ether coursing in a maze of light. 

From look to look, contagious through the crowd, 
The panic runs, and into wondrous shapes 
The appearance throws : armies in meet array, 
Throng'd with aerial spears, and steeds of fire ; 
Till, the long lines of full-extended war 
In bleeding fight commix'd, the sanguine fiood 1120 

Rolls a broad slaughter o'er the plains of heaven. 
As thus they scan the visionary scene, 
On all sides swells the superstitious din, 
Incontinent ; and busy frenzy talks 
Of blood and battle ; cities overturn'd, 
And late at night in swallowing earthquake sunk, 
Or hideous wrapt in fierce ascending flame ; 
Of sallow famine, inundation, storm ; 
Of pestilence, and every great distress ; 
Empires subvers'd, when ruling fate has struck 1130 
The unalterable hour : even Nature's self 



228 AUTUMN. 

Is deem'd to totter on the brink of time. 
Not so the man of philosophic eye, 
And inspect sage ; the waving brightness he 
Curious surveys, inquisitive to know 
The causes, and materials, yet unfix'd, 
Of this appearance beautiful and new. 

Now black, and deep, the night begins to fall, 
A shade immense. Sunk in the quenching gloom, 
Magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth. iuo 

Order confounded lies ; all beauty void ; 
Distinction lost ; and gay variety 
One universal blot : such the fair power 
Of light, to kindle and create the whole. 
Drear is the state of the benighted wretch, 
Who then, bewilder'd, wanders through the dark, 
Full of pale fancies, and chimeras huge ; 
Nor visited by one directive ray, 
From cottage streaming, or from airy hall. 
Perhaps, impatient as he stumbles on, 1150 

Struck from the root of slimy rushes, blue 
The wild-fire scatters round, or gather'd trails 
A length of flame deceitful o'er the moss — 



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While still, from day to day, his pining wife 
And plaintive children his return await, 
In wild conjecture lost. At other times, 
Sent by the better genius of the night, 


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230 AUTUMN. 

Innoxious, gleaming on the horse's mane, 
The meteor sits ; and shows the narrow path, 
That winding leads through pits of death, or else 
Instructs him how to take the dangerous ford. 

The lengthen'd night elaps'd, the morning shines 
Serene, in all her dewy beauty bright, 
Unfolding fair the last autumnal day. 
And now the mounting sun dispels the fog ; 
The rigid hoar-frost melts before his beam ; 
And hung on every spray, on every blade 1170 

Of grass, the myriad dewdrops twinkle round. 

Ah see where robb'd, and murder'd, in that pit 
Lies the still heaving hive ! at evening snatch'd, 
Beneath the cloud of guilt-concealing night, 
And fix'd o'er sulphur ; while, not dreaming ill, 
The happy people, in their waxen cells, 
Sat tending public cares, and planning schemes 
Of temperance, for Winter poor — rejoic'd 
To mark, full-flowing round, their copious stores. 
Sudden the dark oppressive steam ascends ; H80 

And, us'd to milder scents, the tender race, 
By thousands, tumbles from their honied domes, 



AUTUMN. 231 

Convolved, and agonising in the dust. 

And was it then for this you roam'd the Spring, 

Intent from flower to flower ? for this you toil'd 

Ceaseless the burning summer-heats away ? 

For this in Autumn search'd the blooming waste, 

Nor lost one sunny gleam ? for this sad fate ? 

O man ! tyrannic lord ! how long, how long, 

Shall prostrate nature groan beneath your rage, 1190 

Awaiting renovation ? When oblig'd, 

Must you destroy ? Of their ambrosial food 

Can you not borrow ; and, in just return, 

Afford them shelter from the wintry winds ; 

Or, as the sharp year pinches, with their own 

Again regale them on some smiling day ? 

See where the stony bottom of their town 

Looks desolate, and wild ; with here and there 

A helpless number, who the ruin'd state 

Survive, lamenting weak, cast out to death. 1200 

Thus a proud city, populous and rich, 

Full of the works of peace, and high in joy, 

At theatre or feast, or sunk in sleep 

(As late, Palermo, was thy fate) is seiz'd 



232 AUTUMN. 

By some dread earthquake, and convulsive hurl'd, 
Sheer from the black foundation, stench-involv'd, 
Into a gulf of blue sulphureous flame. 

Hence every harsher sight ! for now the day, 
O'er heaven and earth diffus'd, grows warm and high, 
Infinite splendour ! wide-investing all. 1210 

How still the breeze ! save what the filmy threads 
Of dew evaporate brushes from the plain. 
How clear the cloudless sky ! how deeply ting'd 
With a peculiar blue ! the ethereal arch 
How swell'd immense ! amid whose azure thron'd 
The radiant sun how gay ! how calm below, 
The gilded earth ! the harvest-treasures all 
Now gather'd in, beyond the rage of storms, 
Sure to the swain ; the circling fence shut up ; 
And instant Winter's utmost rage defied : 1220 

While, loose to festive joy, the country round 
Laughs with the loud sincerity of mirth, 
Shook to the wind their cares. The toil-strung youth, 
By the quick sense of music taught alone, 
Leaps wildly graceful in the lively dance. 
Her every charm abroad, the village-toast, 




Young, buxom, warm, in native beauty rich, 
Darts not-unmeaning looks ; and, where her eye | 
Points an approving smile, with double force 
The cudgel rattles, and the wrestler twines. 
Age too shines out ; and, garrulous, recounts 




234 AUTUMN. 

The feats of youth. Thus they rejoice ; nor think 
That, with to-morrow's sun, their annual toil 
Begins again the never-ceasing round. 

Oh ! knew he but his happiness, of men 
The happiest he, who far from public rage, 
Deep in the vale, with a choice few retir'd, 
Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life ! 
What though the dome be wanting, whose proud gate, 
Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd 1240 

Of flatterers false, and in their turn abus'd ? 
Vile intercourse ! What though the glittering robe, 
Of every hue reflected light can give, 
Or floating loose, or stiff with mazy gold, 
The pride and gaze of fools ! oppress him not ? 
What though, from utmost land and sea purvey 'd, 
For him each rarer tributary life 
Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps 
With luxury, and death ? What though his bowl 
Flames not with costly juice ; nor, sunk in beds, 1250 
Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night, 
Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state ? 
What though he knows not those fantastic joys, 



AUTUMN. 235 

That still amuse the wanton, still deceive ; 

A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain ; 

Their hollow moments undelighted all ? 

Sure peace is his ; a solid life, estrang'd 

To disappointment, and fallacious hope : 

Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich, 

In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the Spring 1260 

When heaven descends in showers, or bends the bough 

When Summer reddens and when Autumn beams, 

Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies 

Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest sap — 

These are not wanting ; nor the milky drove, 

Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale ; 

Nor bleating mountains ; nor the chide of streams, 

And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere 

Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade, 

Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay ; 1270 

Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song, 

Dim grottos, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear. 

Here too dwells simple truth ; plain innocence ; 

Unsullied beauty ; sound unbroken youth, 

Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd ; 



236 AUTUMN. 

Health ever-blooming ; unambitious toil ; 
Calm contemplation, and poetic ease. 

Let others brave the flood in quest of gain, 
And beat, for joyless months, the gloomy wave. 
Let such as deem it glory to destroy, 1280 

Rush into blood, the sack of cities seek ; 
Unpierc'd, exulting in the widow's wail, 
The virgin's shriek, and infant's trembling cry. 
Let some, far-distant from their native soil, 
Urg'd or by want or harden'd avarice, 
Find other lands beneath another sun. 
Let this through cities work his eager way, 
By legal outrage and establish'd guile, 
The social sense extinct ; and that ferment 
Mad into tumult the seditious herd, 1290 

Or melt them down to slavery. Let these 
Ensnare the wretches in the toils of law, 
Fomenting discord, and perplexing right, 
An iron race ! and those of fairer front, 
But equal inhumanity, in courts, 
Delusive pomp, and dark cabals, delight ; 
Wreathe the deep bow, diffuse the lying smile. 



AUTUMN. 237 

And tread the weary labyrinth of state. 

While he, from all the stormy passions free 

That restless men involve, hears, and but hears, 1300 

At distance safe, the human tempest roar, 

Wrapt close in conscious peace. The fall of kings, 

The rage of nations, and the crush of states, 

Move not the man who, from the world escap'd, 

In still retreats, and flowery solitudes, 

To Nature's voice attends, from month to month, 

And day to day, through the revolving year ; 

Admiring, sees her in her every shape ; 

Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart ; 

Takes what she liberal gives, nor thinks of more. 1310 

He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems, 

Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gale 

Into his freshen'd soul ; her genial hours 

He full enjoys ; and not a beauty blows, 

And not an opening blossom breathes, in vain. 

In Summer he, beneath the living shade, 

Such as o'er frigid Tempe wont to wave, 

Or Haemus cool, reads what the muse, of these 

Perhaps, has in immortal numbers sung ; 



238 AUTUMN. 

Or what she dictates writes ; and oft, an eye 1320 

Shot round, rejoices in the vigorous year. 

When Autumn's yellow lustre gilds the world, 

And tempts the sickled swain into the field, 

Seiz'd by the general joy, his heart distends 

With gentle throes ; and, through the tepid gleams 

Deep-musing, then he best exerts his song. 

Even Winter wild to him is full of bliss. 

The mighty tempest, and the hoary waste, 

Abrupt and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth, 

Awake to solemn thought. At night the skies, 1330 

Disclos'd, and kindled, by refining frost, 

Pour every lustre on the exalted eye. 

A friend, a book, the stealing hours secure, 

And mark them down for wisdom. With swift wing, 

O'er land and sea imagination roams ; 

Or truth, divinely breaking on his mind, 

Elates his being, and unfolds his powers ; 

Or in his breast heroic virtue burns. 

The touch of kindred too and love he feels ; 

The modest eye, whose beams on his alone 1340 

Ecstatic shine ; the little strong embrace 



AUTUMN. 239 

Of prattling children, twin'd around his neck, 

And emulous to please him, calling forth 

The fond parental soul. Nor purpose gay, 

Amusement, dance, or song, he sternly scorns ; 

For happiness and true philosophy 

Are of the social still, and smiling kind. 

This is the life which those who fret in guilt, 

And guilty cities, never knew ; the life 

Led by primeval ages, uncorrupt, 1350 

When angels dwelt, and God himself, with man ! 

O Nature ! all-sufficient ! over all ! 
Enrich me with a knowledge of thy works ! 
Snatch me to heaven ; thy rolling wonders there, 
World beyond world, in infinite extent, 
Profusely scatter'd o'er the void immense, 
Show me ; their motions, periods, and their laws, 
Give me to scan ; through the disclosing deep 
Light my blind way : the mineral strata there ; 
Thrust, blooming, thence the vegetable world; 1360 

O'er that the rising system, more complex, 
Of animals ; and, higher still, the mind, 
The varied scene of quick-compounded thought, 



240 



AUTUMN. 



And where the mixing passions endless shift — 

These ever open to my ravish'd eye ; 

A search, the flight of time can ne'er exhaust ! 

But if to that unequal — if the blood, 

In sluggish streams about my heart, forbid 

That best ambition — under closing shades, 

Inglorious, lay me by the lowly brook, 

And whisper to my dreams. From thee begin, 

Dwell all on thee, with thee conclude my song ; 

And let me never, never stray from thee ! 



1370 



1373 





f ee, Winter comes, to rule the varied year, ;/ - 
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train ; 
Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme 
These, that exalt the soul to solemn thought, 
And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms ! 
Cogenial horrors, hail ! with frequent foot, 
Pleas'd have I, in my cheerful morn of life, 
When nurs'd by careless solitude I liv'd, 
And sung of Nature with unceasing joy, 
| Pleas'd have I wander'd through your rough domain ; 



— -^J lli 



246 WIXTER. 

Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure ; 1 1 

Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst : 
Or seen the deep fermenting tempest brew'd 
In the grim evening-sky. Thus pass'd the time ; 
Till through the lucid chambers of the south 
Look'd out the joyous Spring — look'd out and smil'd. 

To thee, the patron of this first essay, 
The muse, O TTilmington ! renews her song. 
Since has she rounded the revolving year : 
Skimm'd the gay Spring ; on eagle-pinions borne, 20 
Attempted through the summer blaze to rise ; 
Then swept o'er Autumn with the shadowy gale ; 
And now among the wintry clouds again, 
Roll'd in the doubling storm, she tries to soar ; 
To swell her note with all the rushing winds ; 
To suit her sounding cadence to the floods ; 
As is her theme, her numbers wildly great : 
Thrice-happy ! could she fill thy judging ear 
With bold description, and with manly thought. 
Kor art thou skill'd in awful schemes alone, 30 

And how to make a mighty people thrive : 
But equal goodness, sound integrity, 



WINTER. 247 

A firm, unshaken, imcorrupted soul 

Amid a slidino- aire, and burning strong, 

Not vainly blazing, for thy country's weal — 

A steady spirit, regularly tree : 

These, each exalting each, the statesman light 

Into the patriot : these, the public hope 

And eye to thee converting, bid the muse 

Record what envy dares not flattery call. 40 

Xow when the cheerless empire of the sky 
To Capricorn the Centaur- Archer yields, 
And fierce Aquarius stains the inverted year — 
Hung o'er the farthest verge of heaven, the sun 
Scarce spreads o'er ether the dejected day. 
Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot 
His struggling rays, in horizontal lines. 
Through the thick air : as cloth'd in cloudy storm. 
Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky : 
And, soon descending, to the long dark night. so 

TTide.-shading all, the prostrate world resigns. 
Xor is the night unwish'd : while vital heat. 
Light, life, and joy, the dubious day forsake. 
Meantime, in sable cincture, shadows vast. 



248 WINTEK. 

Deep-ting'd and damp, and congregated clouds, 

And all the vapoury turbulence of heaven, 

Involve the face of things. Thus Winter falls, 

A heavy gloom oppressive o'er the world, 

Through nature shedding influence malign, 

And rouses up the seeds of dark disease. 60 

The soul of man dies in him, loathing life, 

And black with more than melancholy views. 

The cattle droop ; and o'er the furrow'd land, 

Fresh from the plough, the dun discolour'd flocks, 

Untended spreading, crop the wholesome root. 

Along the woods, along the moorish fens, 

Sighs the sad genius of the coming storm ; 

And up among the loose disjointed cliffs, 

And fractur'd mountains wild, the brawling brook 

And cave, presageful, send a hollow moan, 70 

Resounding long in listening fancy's ear. 

Then comes the father of the tempest forth, 
Wrapt in black glooms. First, joyless rains obscure 
Drive through the mingling skies with vapour foul, 
Dash on the mountain's brow, and shake the woods 
That grumbling wave below. The unsightly plain 




E? i 



■I 
Lies a brown deluge ; as the low-bent clouds 

Jx Pour flood on flood, yet unexhausted still 

, Combine, and deepening into night shut up 

The day's fair face. The wanderers of heaven 

Each to his home, retire ; save those that love 

To take their pastime in the troubled air, 

Or skimming flutter round the dimply pool. 

The cattle from the untasted fields return, 

And ask, with meaning low, their wonted stalls 

Or ruminate in the contiguous shade. ^^ftteSStf 



Thither the household feathery people crowd — 
The crested cock, with all his female train, 
Pensive and dripping ; while the cottage-hind 
Hangs o'er the enlivening blaze, and taleful there 




250 WINTEE. 

Recounts his simple frolic : much he talks, 

And much he laughs, nor recks the storm that blows 

Without, and rattles on his humble roof. 

Wide o'er the brim, with many a torrent swell'd, 
And the mix'd ruin of its banks o'erspread, 
At last the rous'd-up river pours along : 
Resistless, roaring, dreadful, down it comes, 
From the rude mountain, and the mossy wild, 
Tumbling through rocks abrupt, and sounding far ; 
Then o'er the sanded valley floating spreads, 100 

Calm, sluggish, silent ; till again, constrain'd 
Between two meeting hills, it bursts a way, 
Where rocks and woods o'erhang the turbid stream — 
There gathering triple force, rapid and deep, 
It boils, and wheels, and foams, and thunders through. 

Nature ! great parent ! whose unceasing hand 
Rolls round the Seasons of the changeful year, 
How mighty, how majestic, are thy works ! 
With what a pleasing dread they swell the soul ! 
That sees astonish'd, and astonish'd sings ! no 

Ye too, ye winds ! that now begin to blow, 
With boisterous sweep, I raise my voice to you. 



WINTEK. 251 

Where are your stores, ye powerful beings ! say, 

Where your aerial magazines reserv'd, 

To swell the brooding terrors of the storm ? 

In what far-distant region of the sky, 

Hush'd in deep silence, sleep you when 'tis calm ? 

When from the pallid sky the sun descends, 
With many a spot, that o'er his glaring orb 
Uncertain wanders, stain'd — red fiery streaks 120 

Begin to flush around. The reeling clouds 
Stagger with dizzy poise, as doubting yet 
Which master to obey ; while rising slow 5 
Blank, in the leaden-colour'd east, the moon 
Wears a wan circle round her blunted horns. 
Seen through the turbid, fluctuating air, 
The stars obtuse emit a shivering ray ; 
Or frequent seem to shoot athwart the gloom, 
And long behind them trail the whitening blaze. 
Snatch'd in short eddies, plays the wither'd leaf; 130 
And on the flood the dancing feather floats. 
With broaden'd nostrils to the sky upturn'd, 
The conscious heifer snuffs the stormy gale. 
Even as the matron, at her nightly task, 



252 



AVINTER. 



With pensive labour draws the flaxen thread, 
The wasted taper and the crackling flame 
Foretell the blast. But chief the plumy race, 
The tenants of the sky, its changes speak. 
Retiring from the downs, where all day long 
They pick'd their scanty fare, a blackening train 
Of clamorous rooks thick-urge their weary flight, 
And seek the closing shelter of the grove. 
Assiduous, in his bower, the wailing owl 
Plies his sad song. The cormorant on high 
Wheels from the deep, and screams along the land. 
Loud shrieks the soaring hern ; and with wild wing 



140 




WINTER. 253 

The circling sea-fowl cleave the flaky clouds. 

Ocean, unequal press'd, with broken tide 

And blind commotion heaves ; while from the shore, 

Eat into caverns by the restless wave, 150 

And forest-rustling mountain, comes a voice, 

That solemn-sounding bids the world prepare. 

Then issues forth the storm with sudden burst, 

And hurls the whole precipitated air 

Down in a torrent. On the passive main 

Descends the ethereal force, and with strong gust 

Turns from its bottom the discolour'd deep. 

Through the black night that sits immense around, 

Lash'd into foam, the fierce conflicting brine 

Seems o'er a thousand raging waves to burn. 160 

Meantime the mountain-billows, to the clouds 

In dreadful tumult swell'd, surge above surge, 

Burst into chaos with tremendous roar, 

And anchor'd navies from their stations drive, 

Wild as the winds across the howling waste 

Of mighty waters : now the inflated wave 

Straining they scale, and now impetuous shoot 

Into the secret chambers of the deep, 



254 WINTER. 

The wintry Baltic thundering o'er their head. 

Emerging thence again, before the breath 170 

Of full-exerted heaven they wing their course, 

And dart on distant coasts ; if some sharp rock, 

Or shoal insidious, break not their career, 

And in loose fragments fling them floating round. 

Nor less at land the loosen'd tempest reigns. 
The mountain thunders; and its sturdy sons 
Stoop to the bottom of the rocks they shade. 
Lone on the midnight steep, and all aghast, 
The dark wayfaring stranger breathless toils, 
And, often falling, climbs against the blast. 180 

Low waves the rooted forest, vex'd, and sheds 
What of its tarnish'd honours yet remain ; 
Dash'd down, and scatter'd, by the tearing wind's 
Assiduous fury, its gigantic limbs. 
Thus struggling through the dissipated grove, 
The whirling tempest raves along the plain ; 
And on the cottage thatch'd, or lordly roof, 
Keen-fastening, shakes them to the solid base. 
Sleep frighted flies ; and round the rocking dome, 
For entrance eager, howls the savage blast. 190 



WINTER. 255 

Then too, they say, through all the burden'd air, 
Long groans are heard, shrill sounds, and distant sighs, 
That, utter'd by the demon of the night, 
Warn the devoted wretch of woe and death. 

Huge uproar lords it wide. The clouds, commix'd 
With stars swift-gliding, sweep along the sky. 
All nature reels : till nature's King, who oft 
Amid tempestuous darkness dwells alone, 
And on the wings of the careering wind 
Walks dreadfully serene, commands a calm ; 200 

Then straight air, sea, and earth, are hush'd at once. 

As yet 'tis midnight deep. The weary clouds, 
Slow-meeting, mingle into solid gloom. 
Now, while the drowsy world lies lost in sleep, 
Let me associate with the serious night, 
And contemplation her sedate compeer ; 
Let me shake off the intrusive cares of day, 
And lay the meddling senses all aside. 

Where now, ye lying vanities of life ! 
Ye ever-tempting, ever-cheating train ! 210 

Where are you now ? and what is your amount ? 
Vexation, disappointment, and remorse. 



256 WINTER. 

Sad, sickening thought ! and yet deluded man, 
A scene of crude disjointed visions past, 
And broken slumbers, rises still resolv'd, 
With new-flush'd hopes, to run the giddy round. 

Father of light and life ! thou Good Supreme ! 
Oh teach me what is good ! teach me Thyself ! 
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice, 
From every low pursuit ; and feed my soul 220 

With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure — 
Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss ! 

The keener tempests come ; and fuming dun 
From all the livid east, or piercing north, 
Thick clouds ascend — in whose capacious womb 
A vapoury deluge lies, to snow congeal'd. 
Heavy they roll their fleecy world along ; 
And the sky saddens with the gather'd storm. 
Through the hush'd air the whitening shower descends, 
At first thin-wavering ; till at last the flakes 230 

Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day 
With a continual flow. The cherish'd fields 
Put on their winter robe of purest white. 
'Tis brightness all ; save where the new snow melts 



WINTER. 257 

Along the mazy current. Low, the woods 

Bow their hoar head ; and, ere the languid sun 

Faint from the west emits his evening ray, 

Earth's universal face, deep-hid and chill, 

Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide 

The works of man. Drooping, the labourer-ox 240 

Stands cover'd o'er with snow, and then demands 

The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven, 

Tam'd by the cruel season, crowd around 

The winnowing store, and claim the little boon 

Which Providence assigns them. One alone, 

The redbreast, sacred to the household-gods, 

Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky, 

In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves 

His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man 

His annual visit. Half-afraid, he first 250 

Against the window beats ; then, brisk, alights 

On the warm hearth ; then, hopping o'er the floor, 

Eyes all the smiling family askance, 

And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is — 

Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs 

Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds 



258 WINTER. 

Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, 
Though timorous of heart, and hard beset 
By death in various forms, dark snares, and dogs, 
And more unpitying men, the garden seeks, 260 

Urg'd on by fearless want. The bleating kind 
Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth, 
With looks of dumb despair ; then, sad-dispers'd, 
Dig for the wither'd herb through heaps of snow. 

Now, shepherds, to your helpless charge be kind ; 
Baffle the raging year, and fill their pens 
With food at will ; lodge them below the storm, 
And watch them strict : for from the bellowing east, 
In this dire season, oft the whirlwind's wing 
Sweeps up the burden of whole wintry plains 270 

In one wide waft, and o'er the hapless flocks, 
Hid in the hollow of two neighbouring hills, 
The billowy tempest whelms ; till, upward urg'd, 
The valley to a shining mountain swells, 
Tipp'd with a wreath high-curling in the sky. 

As thus the snows arise, and foul and fierce 
All Winter drives along the darken'd air, 
In his own loose-revolving fields the swain 



WINTEK. 259 

Disaster'd stands ; sees other hills ascend, 

Of unknown joyless brow ; and other scenes, 280 

Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain ; 

Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid 

Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on 

From hill to dale, still more and more astray — 

Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, 

Stung with the thoughts of home : the thoughts of home 

Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth 

In many a vain attempt. How sinks his soul ! 

What black despair, what horror fills his heart ! 

When for the dusky spot which fancy feign'd 29x) 

His tufted cottage, rising through the snow, 

He meets the roughness of the middle waste, 

Far from the track, and blest abode of man ; 

While round him night resistless *closes fast, 

And every tempest, howling o'er his head, 

Renders the savage wilderness more wild. 

Then throng the busy shapes into his mind, 

Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep, 

A dire descent ! beyond the power of frost ; 

Of faithless bogs ; of precipices huge, 300 




Smooth'd up with snow ; and, what is land unknown, 
What water, of the still unfrozen spring, 
j* In the loose marsh or solitary lake, 
Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils. 
These check his fearful steps ; and down he sinks 
Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift, 
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death, 
Mix'd with the tender anguish nature shoots 
Through the wrung bosom of the dying man — 
His wife, his children, and his friends, unseen. 








WINTER. 26 1 

In vain for him the officious wife prepares 

The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm ; 

In vain his little children, peeping out 

Into the mingling storm, demand their sire, 

With tears of artless innocence. Alas ! 

Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold, 

Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve 

The deadly Winter seizes ; shuts up sense ; 

And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold, 

Lays him along the snow a stifFen'd corse — 320 

Stretch'd out, and bleaching in the northern blast. 

Ah ! little think the gay licentious proud, 
Whom pleasure, power, and affluence, surround ; 
They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, 
And wanton, often cruel, riot waste ; 
Ah ! little think they, while they dance along, 
How many feel this very moment death, 
And all the sad variety of pain. 
How many sink in the devouring flood, 
Or more devouring flame. How many bleed, 330 

By shameful variance betwixt man and man. 
How many pine in want, and dungeon- glooms ; 



262 WINTEK. 

Shut from the common air, and common use 

Of their own limbs. How many drink the cup 

Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread 

Of misery. Sore pierc'd by wintry winds, 

How many shrink into the sordid hut 

Of cheerless poverty. How many shake 

With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, 

Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse ; 340 

Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life, 

They furnish matter for the tragic muse. 

Even in the vale, where wisdom loves to dwell, 

With friendship, peace, and contemplation join'd, 

How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop 

In deep retir'd distress. How many stand 

Around the death-bed of their dearest friends, 

And point the parting anguish. Thought fond man 

Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, 

That one incessant struggle render life, 350 

One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate, 

Vice in his high career would stand appall'd, 

And heedless rambling impulse learn to think ; 

The conscious heart of charity would warm, 



WINTER. 263 

And her wide wish benevolence dilate ; 
And social tear would rise, the social sigh ; 
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss, 
Refining still, the social passions work. 

And here can I forget the generous band l , 
Who, touch'd with human woe, redressive search'd 
Into the horrors of the gloomy jail ? 36 1 

Unpitied, and unheard, where misery moans ; 
Where sickness pines ; where thirst and hunger burn, 
And poor misfortune feels the lash of vice. 
While in the land of liberty, the land 
Whose every street and public meeting glow 
With open freedom, little tyrants rag'd : 
Snatch'd the lean morsel from the starving mouth ; 
Tore from cold wintry limbs the tatter'd weed ; 
Even robb'cl them of the last of comforts, sleep ; 370 

The free-born Briton to the dungeon chain'd, 
Or, as the lust of cruelty prevail'd, 
At pleasure mark'd him with inglorious stripes ; 
And crush'd out lives, by secret barbarous ways, 
That for their country would have toil'd, or bled. 
Oh great design ! if executed well, 



264 WINTER. 

With patient care, and wisdom-temper'd zeal. 

Ye sons of mercy ! yet resume the search ; 

Drag forth the legal monsters into light, 

Wrench from their hands oppression's iron rod, 380 

And bid the cruel feel the pains they give. 

Much still untouch'd remains ; in this rank age, 

Much is the patriot's weeding hand requir'd. 

The toils of law, (what dark insidious men 

Have cumbrous added to perplex the truth, 

And lengthen simple justice into trade) 

How glorious were the day that saw these broke, 

And every man within the reach of right ! 

By wintry famine rous'd, from all the tract 
Of horrid mountains which the shining Alps, 390 

And wavy Apennines, and Pyrenees, 
Branch out stupendous into distant lands — 
Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave ! 
Burning for blood ! bony, and gaunt, and grim ! 
Assembling wolves in raging troops descend ; 
And, pouring o'er the country, bear along, 
Keen as the north-wind sweeps the glossy snow. 
All is their prize. They fasten on the steed, 



WINTER. 265 

Press him to earth, and pierce his mighty heart. 

Nor can the bull his awful front defend, 400 

Or shake the murdering savages away. 

Rapacious, at the mother's throat they fly, 

And tear the screaming infant from her breast. 

The godlike face of man avails him nought. 

Even beauty, force divine ! at whose bright glance 

The generous lion stands in soften'd gaze, 

Here bleeds, a hapless undistinguish'd prey. 

But if, appris'd of the severe attack, 

The country be shut up — lur'd by the scent, 

On church-yards drear (inhuman to relate !) 4ro 

The disappointed prowlers fall, and dig 

The shrouded body from the grave ; o'er which, 

Mix'd with foul shades, and frighted ghosts, they howl. 

Among those hilly regions, where embrac'd 
In peaceful vales the happy Grisons dwell, 
Oft, rushing sudden from the loaded cliffs, 
Mountains of snow their gathering terrors roll. 
From steep to steep, loud-thundering, down they come, 
A wintry waste in dire commotion all ; 
And herds, and flocks, and travellers, and swains, 420 



WINTER. 267 

To cheer the gloom. There studious let me sit, 43 1 

And hold high converse with the mighty dead ; 

Sages of ancient time, as gods rever'd, 

As gods beneficent, who bless'd mankind 

With arts and arms, and humanis'd a world. 

Rous'd at the inspiring thought, I throw aside 

The longliv'd volume ; and, deep-musing, hail 

The sacred shades, that slowly rising pass 

Before my wondering eyes. First Socrates, 

Who, firmly good in a corrupted state, 440 

Against the rage of tyrants single stood, 

Invincible ! calm reason's holy law, 

That voice of God within the attentive mind, 

Obeying, fearless, or in life or death : 

Great moral teacher ! wisest of mankind ! 

Solon the next, who built his commonweal 

On equity's wide base ; by tender laws 

A lively people curbing, yet undamp'd 

Preserving still that quick peculiar fire, 

Whence in the laurell'd field of finer arts, 450 

And of bold freedom, they unequall'd shone — 

The pride of smiling Greece, and human-kind. 



268 WINTER, 

Lycurgus then, who bow'd beneath the force 

Of strictest discipline, severely wise, 

All human passions. Following him, I see, 

As at Thermopylae he glorious fell, 

The firm devoted chief 2 , who prov'd by deeds 

The hardest lesson which the other taught. 

Then Aristides lifts his honest front ; 

Spotless of heart, to whom the unflattering voice 460 

Of freedom gave the noblest name of Just ; 

In pure majestic poverty rever'd ; 

Who, even his glory to his country's weal 

Submitting, swell'd a haughty rival's 3 fame. 

Rear'd by his care, of softer ray, appears 

Cimon sweet-soul'd ; whose genius, rising strong, 

Shook off the load of young debauch ; abroad 

The scourge of Persian pride, at home the friend 

Of every worth and every splendid art — 

Modest, and simple, in the pomp of wealth. 470 

Then the last worthies of declining Greece, 

Late-call'd to glory, in unequal times, 

Pensive, appear. The fair Corinthian boast, 

Timoleon, temper'd happy, mild and firm, 



WINTER. 269 

Who wept the brother while the tyrant bled. 

And, equal to the best, the Theban pair, 4 

Whose virtues, in heroic concord join'd, 

Their country rais'd to freedom, empire, fame. 

He too, with whom Athenian honour sunk, 

And left a mass of sordid lees behind, 480 

Phocion the good ; in public life severe, 

To virtue still inexorably firm ; 

But when, beneath his low illustrious roof, 

Sweet peace and happy wisdom smooth'd his brow, 

Not friendship softer was, nor love more kind. 

And he, the last of old Lycurgus' sons, 

The generous victim to that vain attempt, 

To save a rotten state, Agis, who saw 

Even Sparta's self to servile avarice sunk. 

The two Achaean heroes close the train. 490 

Aratus, who a while relum'd the soul 

Of fondly lingering liberty in Greece ; 

And he her darling as her latest hope, 

The gallant Philopoemen, who to arms 

Turn'd the luxurious pomp he could not cure : 

Or, toiling in his farm, a simple swain ; 



270 WINTER. 

Or, bold and skilful, thundering in the field. 
Of rougher front, a mighty people come ! 
A race of heroes ! in those virtuous times 
Which knew no stain, save that with partial flame 500 
Their dearest country they too fondly lov'd. 
Her better founder first, the light of Rome, 
Numa, who soften'd her rapacious sons. 
Servius, the king who laid the solid base 
On which o'er earth the vast republic spread. 
Then the great consuls venerable rise. 
The public father 5 who the private quell'd. 
As on the dread tribunal sternly sad. 
He whom his thankless country could not lose, 
Camillus, only vengeful to her foes. 510 

Fabricius, scorner of all-conquering gold ; 
And Cincinnatus, awful from the plough. 
Thy willing victim 6 , Carthage, bursting loose 
From all that pleading nature could oppose ; 
From a whole city's tears, by rigid faith 
Imperious call'd, and honour's dire command. 
Scipio, the gentle chief, humanely brave, 
Who soon the race of spotless glory ran ; 



WINTER. 271 

And;, warm in youth, to the poetic shade 

With friendship and philosophy retir'd. 520 

Tully, whose powerful eloquence a while 

Restrain'd the rapid fate of rushing Rome. 

Unconquer'd Cato, virtuous in extreme. 

And thou, unhappy Brutus, kind of heart, 

Whose steady arm, by awful virtue urg'd, 

Lifted the Roman steel against thy friend. 

Thousands, besides, the tribute of a verse 

Demand ; but who can count the stars of heaven ? 

Who sing their influence on this lower world ? 

Behold, who yonder comes ! in sober state, 53(r 

Fair, mild, and strong, as is a vernal sun : 




272 WINTER. 

'Tis Phoebus' self, or else the Mantuan swain ! 

Great Homer too appears, of daring wing, 

Parent of song ! and equal by his side, 

The British muse ; join'd hand in hand they walk, 

Darkling, full up the middle steep to fame. 

Nor absent are those shades whose skilful touch 

Pathetic drew the impassion'd heart, and charm'd 

Transported Athens with the moral scene ; 

Nor those who, tuneful, wak'd the enchanting lyre. 540 

First of your kind ! society divine ! 
Still visit thus my nights, for you reserv'd, 
And mount my soaring soul to thoughts like yours. 
Silence, thou lonely power ! the door be thine ; 
See on the hallow'd hour that none intrude, 
Save a few chosen friends, who sometimes deign 
To bless my humble roof, with sense refin'd, 
Learning digested well, exalted faith, 
Unstudied wit, and humour ever gay. 
Or from the muses' hill will Pope descend, 550 

To raise the sacred hour, to bid it smile, 
And with the social spirit warm the heart : 
For though not sweeter his own Homer sings, 



WINTER. 273 

Yet is his life the more endearing song. 

Where art thou, Hammond ? thou the darling pride, 
The friend and lover of the tuneful throng ! 
Ah ! why, dear youth, in all the blooming prime 
Of vernal genius, where disclosing fast 
Each active worth, each manly virtue lay, 
Why wert thou ravish'd from our hope so soon ? 560 
What now avails that noble thirst of fame, 
Which stung thy fervent breast ? that treasur'd store 
Of knowledge, early gain'd ? that eager zeal 
To serve thy country, glowing in the band 
Of youthful patriots, who sustain her name ? 
What now, alas ! that life-diffusing charm 
Of sprightly wit ? that rapture for the muse, 
That heart of friendship, and that soul of joy, 
Which bade with softest light thy virtues smile ? 
Ah ! only show'd, to check our fond pursuits, 5 70 

And teach our humble hopes that life is vain ! 

Thus in some deep retirement would I pass 
The winter glooms, with friends of pliant soul, 
Or blithe, or solemn, as the theme inspir'd : 
With them would search, if Nature's boundless frame 



274 WINTER. 

Was call'd late-rising from the void of night, 

Or sprung eternal from the Eternal Mind ; 

Its life, its laws, its progress, and its end. 

Hence larger prospects of the beauteous Avhole 

Would, gradual, open on our opening minds ; 580 

And each diffusive harmony unite, 

In full perfection, to the astonish'd eye. 

Then would we try to scan the moral world ; 

Which, though to us it seems embroil'd, moves on 

In higher order — fitted, and impell'd, 

By Wisdom's finest hand, and issuing all 

In general good. The sage historic muse 

Should next conduct us through the deeps of time : 

Show us how empire grew, declin'd, and fell, 

In scatter'd states ; what makes the nations smile, 590 

Improves their soil, and gives them double suns ; 

And why they pine beneath the brightest skies, 

In Nature's richest lap. As thus we talk'd, 

Our hearts would burn within us, would inhale 

That portion of divinity, that ray 

Of purest heaven, which lights the public soul 

Of patriots, and of heroes. But if doom'd, 



WINTEK. 275 

In powerless humble fortune, to repress 

These ardent risings of the kindling soul — 

Then, even superior to ambition, we 600 

Would learn the private virtues ; how to glide 

Through shades and plains, along the smoothest stream 

Of rural life ; or snatch'd away by hope, 

Through the dim spaces of futurity, 

With earnest eye anticipate those scenes 

Of happiness, and wonder — where the mind, 

In endless growth and infinite ascent, 

Rises from state to state, and world to world. 

But when with these the serious thought is foil'd, 

We, shifting for relief, would play the shapes 6io 

Of frolic fancy ; and incessant form 

Those rapid pictures, that assembled tram 

Of fleet ideas, never join'd before, 

Whence lively wit excites to gay surprise — 

Or folly-painting humour, grave himself, 

Calls laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve. 

Meantime the village rouses up the fire : 
While, well-attested and as well believ'd, 
Heard solemn, goes the goblin-story round, 619 




a 



- 






u- " .***** 






Till superstitious horror creeps o'ei 
91 Or, frequent in the sounding hall, they wake 



fill 



B The rural gambol. Rustic mirth goes round : 
The simple joke that takes the shepherd's heart, 




Warn- '^BP 



m?®m^m 




WINTER. 277 

Easily pleas'd ; the long loud laugh, sincere ; 

The kiss, snatch'd hasty from the sidelong maid, 

On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep ; 

The leap, the slap, the haul ; and, shook to notes 

Of native music, the respondent dance. 

Thus jocund fleets with them the winter night. 

The city swarms intense. The public haunt, 630 
Full of each theme, and warm with mix'd discourse, 
Hums indistinct. The sons of riot flow 
Down the loose stream of false enchanted joy, 
To swift destruction. On the rankled soul 
The gaming fury falls ; and in one gulf 
Of total ruin, honour, virtue, peace, 
Friends, families., and fortune, headlong sink. 
Up springs the dance along the lighted dome, 
Mix'd, and evolv'd, a thousand sprightly ways. 
The glittering court effuses every pomp ; 640 

The circle deepens ; beam'd from gaudy robes, 
Tapers, and sparkling gems, and radiant eyes, 
A soft effulgence o'er the palace waves : 
While, a gay insect in his summer shine, 
The fop, light-fluttering, spreads his mealy wings. 



278 WINTER. 

Dread o'er the scene, the ghost of Hamlet stalks ; 
Othello rages ; poor Monimia mourns ; 
And Belvidera pours her soul in love. 
Terror alarms the breast ; the comely tear 
Steals o'er the cheek : or else the comic muse 650 

Holds to the world a picture of itself, 
And raises sly the fair impartial laugh. 
Sometimes she lifts her strain, and paints the scenes 
Of beauteous life ; whate'er can deck mankind, 
Or charm the heart, in generous Bevil 7 show'd. 

O thou whose wisdom, solid yet refin'd, 
Whose patriot virtues, and consummate skill 
To touch the finer springs that move the world, 
Join'd to whate'er the graces can bestow, 
And all Apollo's animating fire, 660 

Give thee, with pleasing dignity, to shine 
At once the guardian, ornament, and joy, 
Of polish'd life — permit the rural muse, 
Chesterfield, to grace with thee her song ! 
Ere to the shades again she humbly flies, 
Indulge her fond ambition, in thy train, 
(For every muse has in thy train a place) 



WINTER. 279 

To mark thy various full-accomplish'd mind : 

To mark that spirit, which, with British scorn, 

Rejects the allurements of corrupted power ; 670 

That elegant politeness, which excels, 

Even in the judgment of presumptuous France, 

The boasted manners of her shining court ; 

That wit, the vivid energy of sense, 

The truth of nature, which, with Attic point, 

And kind well-temper'd satire, smoothly keen, 

Steals through the soul, and without pain corrects. 

Or, rising thence with yet a brighter flame, 

Oh let me hail thee on some glorious day, 

When to the listening senate, ardent, crowd 680 

Britannia's sons to hear her pleaded cause. 

Then drest by thee, more amiably fair, 

Truth the soft robe of mild persuasion wears : 

Thou to assenting reason giv'st again 

Her own enlighten'd thoughts ; call'd from the heart, 

The obedient passions on thy voice attend ; 

And even reluctant party feels a while 

Thy gracious power — as through the varied maze 

Of eloquence, now smooth, now quick, now strong, 



280 WINTER. 

Profound and clear, you roll the copious flood. 690 

To thy lov'd haunt return, my happy muse : 
For now, behold, the joyous winter-days, 
Frosty, succeed ; and through the blue serene, 
For sight too fine, the ethereal nitre flies — 
Killing infectious damps, and the spent air 
Storing afresh with elemental life. 
Close crowds the shining atmosphere ; and binds 
Our strengthen'd bodies in its cold embrace, 
Constringent ; feeds, and animates our blood ; 
Refines our spirits, through the new-strung nerves, 7oo 
In swifter sallies darting to the brain — 
Where sits the soul, intense, collected, cool, 
Bright as the skies, and as the season keen. 
All nature feels the renovating force 
Of Winter, only to the thoughtless eye 
In ruin seen. The frost-concocted glebe 
Draws in abundant vegetable soul, 
And gathers vigour for the coming year. 
A stronger glow sits on the lively cheek 
Of ruddy fire : and luculent along 710 

The purer rivers flow ; their sullen deeps, 



AVINTER. 281 

Transparent, open to the shepherd's gaze, 
And murmur hoarser at the fixing frost. 

What art thou, frost ? and whence are thy keen stores 
Deriv'd, thou secret all-invading power, 
Whom even the illusive fluid cannot fly ? 
Is not thy potent energy, unseen, 
Myriads of little salts, or hook'd, or shap'd 
Like double wedges, and difFus'd immense 
Through water, earth, and ether ? Hence at eve, 720 
Steam'd eager from the red horizon round, 
With the fierce rage of Winter deep suflus'd, 
An icy gale, oft shifting, o'er the pool 
Breathes a blue film, and in its mid-career 
Arrests the bickering stream. The loosen'd ice, 
Let clown the flood, and half-dissolv'd by day, 
Bustles no more ; but to the sedgy bank 
Fast grows, or gathers round the pointed stone — 
A crystal pavement, by the breath of heaven 
Cemented firm ; till, seiz'd from shore to shore, 730 

The whole imprison'd river growls below. 
Loud rings the frozen earth, and hard reflects 
A double noise ; while, at his evening watch, 




The village dog deters the nightly thief; 
The heifer lows ; the distant water-fall 
Swells in the breeze ; and, with the hasty tread 
Of traveller, the hollow-sounding plain 
Shakes from afar. The full ethereal round, 
Infinite worlds disclosing to the view, 
Shines out intensely keen ; and, all one cope 
Of starry glitter, glows from pole to pole. 
From pole to pole the rigid influence falls, 
Through the still night, incessant, heavy, strong 
If And seizes nature fast. It freezes on ; 




WINTER. 283 

Till morn, late-rising o'er the drooping world, 

Lifts her pale eye unjoyous. Then appears 

The various labour of the silent niuht : 

Prone from the dripping eave, and dumb cascade, 

Whose idle torrents only seem to roar, 

The pendent icicle ; the frost-work fair, 750 

Where transient hues, and fancied figures, rise ; 

Wide-spouted o'er the hill, the frozen brook, 

A livid tract, cold-gleaming on the morn : 

The forest bent beneath the plumy wave ; 

And by the frost refin'd the whiter snow, 

Incrusted hard, and sounding to the tread 

Of early shepherd, as he pensive seeks 

His pining flock, or from the mountain top, 

Pleas'd with the slippery surface, swift descends. 

On blithesome frolics bent, the youthful swains, 760 
While every work of man is laid at rest, 
Fond o'er the river crowd, in various sport 
And revelry dissolv'd ; where mixing glad, 
Happiest of all the train ! the raptur'd boy 
Lashes the whirling top. Or, where the Rhine 
Branch'd out in many a long canal extends, 



284 



WINTER. 



From every province swarming, void of care, 
Batavia rushes forth ; and as they sweep, 
On sounding skates, a thousand diiferent ways, 
In circling poise, swift as the winds, along, 
The then gay land is madden'd all to joy. 



770 




Nor less the northern courts, wide o'er the snow, 
Pour a new pomp. Eager, on rapid sleds, 
Their vigorous youth in bold contention wheel 
The long-resounding course. Meantime, to raise 
The manly strife, with highly blooming charms, 
Flush'd by the season, Scandinavia's dames, 



WINTER. 285 

Or Russia's buxom daughters, glow around. 

Pure, quick, and sportful, is the wholesome day ; 
But soon elaps'd. The horizontal sun, 780 

Broad o'er the south, hangs at his utmost noon ; 
And, ineffectual, strikes the gelid cliff. 
His azure gloss the mountain still maintains, 
Nor feels the feeble touch. Perhaps the vale 
Relents a while to the reflected ray ; 
Or from the forest falls the cluster'd snow, 
Myriads of gems, that in the waving gleam 
Gay-twinkle as they scatter. Thick around 
Thunders the sport of those who with the gun, 
And dog impatient bounding at the shot, 790 

Worse than the season,, desolate the fields ; 
And, adding to the ruins of the year, 
Distress the footed or the feather'd game. 

But what is this ? our infant Winter sinks, 
Divested of his grandeur, should our eye 
Astonish'd shoot into the frigid zone ; 
Where, for relentless months, continual night 
Holds o'er the glittering waste her starry reign. 

There, through the prison of unbounded wilds, 



286 WINTER. 

Barr'd by the hand of Nature from escape, 800 

Wide-roams the Russian exile. Nought around 

Strikes his sad eye, but deserts lost in snow ; 

And heavy-loaded groves ; and solid floods, 

That stretch, athwart the solitary vast, 

Their icy horrors to the frozen main ; 

And cheerless towns far-distant, never bless'd, 

Save when its annual course the caravan 

Bends to the golden coast of rich Cathay, 8 

With news of human-kind. Yet there life glows ; 

Yet cherish'd there, beneath the shining waste, 8io 

The furry nations harbour : tipp'd with jet, 

Fair ermines, spotless as the snows they press ; 

Sables, of glossy black ; and dark-embrown'd, 

Or beauteous freak'd with many a mingled hue, 

Thousands besides, the costly pride of courts. 

There, warm together press'd, the trooping deer 

Sleep on the new-fall'n snows ; and, scarce his head 

Rais'd o'er the heapy wreath, the branching elk 

Lies slumbering sullen in the white abyss. 

The ruthless hunter wants nor dogs nor toils, 820 

Nor with the dread of sounding bows he drives 



WINTER. 287 

The fearful flying race ; with ponderous clubs, 
As weak against the mountain-heaps they push 
Their beating breast in vain, and piteous bray, 
He lays them quivering on the ensanguin'd snows, 
And with loud shouts rejoicing bears them home. 
There through the piny forest half-absorpt, 
Rough tenant of these shades, the shapeless bear, 
With dangling ice all horrid, stalks forlorn ; 
Slow-pac'd, and sourer as the storms increase, 830 

He makes his bed beneath the inclement drift, 
And, with stern patience, scorning weak complaint, 
Hardens his heart against assailing want. 

Wide o'er the spacious regions of the north, 
That see Bootes urge his tardy wain, 
A boisterous race, by frosty caurus 9 pierc'd, 
Who little pleasure know and fear no pain, 
Prolific swarm. They once relum'cl the flame 
Of lost mankind in polish'd slavery sunk, 
Drove martial horde on horde 10 , with dreadful sweep 
Resistless rushing o'er the enfeebled south, 84 1 

And gave the vanquish'd world another form. 
Not such the sons of Lapland : wisely they 




Despise the insensate barbarous trade of war : 

They ask no more than simple nature gives ; 

They love their mountains and enjoy their storms. 

No false desires, no pride-created wants, 

Disturb the peaceful current of their time ; 

And, through the restless ever-tortur'd maze 

Of pleasure, or ambition, bid it rage. 

Their rein-deer form their riches. These their tents, 

Their robes, their beds, and all their homely wealth 

Supply, their wholesome fare, and cheerful cups. 

Obsequious at their call, the docile tribe 




WINTER, 289 

Yield to the sled their necks, and whirl them swift 

O'er hill and dale, heap'd into one expanse 

Of marbled snow, or far as eye can sweep 

With a blue crust of ice unbounded glaz'd. 

By dancing meteors then, that ceaseless shake 

A waving blaze refracted o'er the heavens, 860 

And vivid moons, and stars that keener play 

With doubled lustre from the radiant waste, 

Even in the depth of polar night, they find 

A wondrous day — enough to light the chase, 

Or guide their daring steps to Finland fairs. 

Wish'd Spring returns ; and from the hazy south, 

While dim aurora slowly moves before, 

The welcome sun, just verging up at first, 

By small degrees extends the swelling curve ; 

Till seen at last for gay rejoicing months, 8 70 

Still, round and round, his spiral course he winds, 

And as he nearly dips his flaming orb 

Wheels up again, and re-ascends the sky. 

In that glad season, from the lakes and floods, 

Where pure Niemi's 11 fairy mountains rise, 

And fring'd with roses Tenglio 12 rolls his stream, 



290 WINTEK. 

They draw the copious fry. With these, at eve, 

They cheerful-loaded to their tents repair; 

Where, all day long in useful cares employ'd, 

Their kind unblemish'd wives the fire prepare. 880 

Thrice-happy race ! by poverty secur'd 

From legal plunder and rapacious power : 

In whom fell interest never yet has sown 

The seeds of vice ; whose spotless swains ne'er knew 

Injurious deed ; nor, blasted by the breath 

Of faithless love, their blooming daughters woe. 

Still pressing on, beyond Tornea's lake, 
And Hecla flaming through a waste of snow, 
And farthest Greenland, to the pole itself, 
Where, failing gradual, life at length goes out, 890 

The muse expands her solitary flight ; 
And, hovering o'er the wild stupendous scene, 
Beholds new seas beneath another sky. 13 
Thron'd in his palace of cerulean ice, 
Here Winter holds his unrejoicing court ; 
And through his airy hall the loud misrule 
Of driving tempest is for ever heard : 
Here the grim tyrant meditates his wrath ; 



WINTER. 291 

Here arms his winds with all-subduing frost ; 

Moulds his fierce hail, and treasures up his snows, 900 

With which he now oppresses half the globe. 

Thence winding eastward to the Tartar's coast, 
She sweeps the howling margin of the main ; 
Where undissolving, from the first of time, 
Snows swell on snows amazing to the sky — 
And icy mountains high on mountains pil'd 
Seem to the shivering sailor from afar, 
Shapeless and white, an atmosphere of clouds. 
Projected huge, and horrid, o'er the surge, 
Alps frown on alps ; or rushing hideous down, 910 

As if old chaos was again return'd, 
Wide-rend the deep, and shake the solid pole. 
Ocean itself no longer can resist 
The binding fury ; but, in all its rage 
Of tempest taken by the boundless frost, 
Is many a fathom to the bottom chain'd, 
And bid to roar no more : a bleak expanse, 
Shagg'd o'er with wavy rocks, cheerless, and void 
Of every life, that from the dreary months 
Flies conscious southward. Miserable they ! 920 



292 WINTER. 

Who, here entangled in the gathering ice, 

Take their last look of the descending sun ; 

While, full of death, and fierce with tenfold frost, 

The long, long night, incumbent o'er their heads, 

Falls horrible. Such was the Briton's fate 14 , 

As with first prow (what have not Britons dar'd ! ) 

He for the passage sought, attempted since 

So much in vain, and seeming to be shut 

By jealous Nature with eternal bars. 

In these fell regions, in Arzina caught, 930 

And to the stony deep his idle ship 

Immediate seal'd, he with his hapless crew, 

Each full-exerted at his several task, 

Froze into statues ; to the cordage glued 

The sailor, and the pilot to the helm. 

Hard by these shores, where scarce his freezing stream 
Rolls the wild Oby, live the last of men ; 
And, half-enliven'd by the distant sun, 
That rears and ripens man, as well as plants, 
Here human nature wears its rudest form. 940 

Deep from the piercing season sunk in caves, 
Here by dull fires, and with unjoyous cheer, 



WINTER. 293 

They waste the tedious gloom. Immers'd in furs, 
Doze the gross race. Nor sprightly jest, nor song, 
Nor tenderness, they know ; nor aught of life, 
Beyond the kindred bears that stalk without. 
Till morn at length, her roses drooping all, 
Sheds a long twilight brightening o'er their fields, 
And calls the quiver'd savage to the chase. 

What cannot actrve government perform, 950 

New-moulding man ? Wide-stretching from these shores, 
A people savage from remotest time, 
A huge neglected empire — one vast mind, 
By Heaven inspir'd, from Gothic darkness call'd. 
Immortal Peter ! first of monarchs ! He 
His stubborn country tam'cl, her rocks, her fens, 
Her floods, her seas, her ill-submitting sons ; 
And while the fierce barbarian he subdu'd, 
To more exalted soul he rais'd the man. 
Ye shades of ancient heroes, ye who toil'd 960 

Through long successive ages to build up 
A labouring plan of state, behold at once 
The wonder done ! behold the matchless prince ! 
Who left his native throne, where reign'd till then 



294 WINTER. 

A mighty shadow of unreal power ; 

Who greatly spurn'd the slothful pomp of courts ; 

And roaming every land — in every port 

His sceptre laid aside, with glorious hand 

Unwearied plying the mechanic tool — 

Gather'd the seeds of trade, of useful arts, 970 

Of civil wisdom, and of martial skill. 

Charg'd with the stores of Europe, home he goes ! 

Then cities rise amid the illumin'd waste ; 

O'er joyless deserts smiles the rural reign ; 

Far-distant flood to flood is social join'd ; 

The astonish'd Euxine hears the Baltic roar ; 

Proud navies ride on seas that never foam'd 

With daring keel before ; and armies stretch 

Each way their dazzling files — repressing here 

The frantic Alexander of the north, 980 

And awing there stern Othman's shrinking sons. 

Sloth flies the land, and ignorance, and vice, 

Of old dishonour proud : it glows around, 

Taught by the royal hand that rous'd the whole, 

One scene of arts, of arms, of rising trade — 

For what his wisdom plann'd, and power enforc'd, 



WINTER, 295 

More potent still, his great example show'd. 

Muttering, the winds at eve, with blunted point, 
Blow hollow-blustering from the south. Subdu'd, 
The frost resolves into a trickling thaw. 990 

Spotted the mountains shine ; loose sleet descends, 
And floods the country round. The rivers swell, 
Of bonds impatient. Sudden from the hills, 
O'er rocks and woods, in broad brown cataracts, 
A thousand snow-fed torrents shoot at once ; 
And, where they rush, the wide-resounding plain 
Is left one slimy waste. Those sullen seas, 
That wash the ungenial pole, will rest no more 
Beneath the shackles of the mighty north ; 
But, rousing all their waves, resistless heave — 1000 

And, hark ! the lengthening roar continuous runs 
Athwart the rifted deep : at once it bursts, 
And piles a thousand mountains to the clouds. 
Ill fares the bark with trembling wretches charg'd, 
That, toss'd amid the floating fragments, moors 
Beneath the shelter of an icy isle, 
While night o'erwhelms the sea, and horror looks 
More horrible. Can human force endure 



296 WINTER. 

The assembled mischiefs that besiege them round ? 

Heart-gnawing hunger, fainting weariness, 1010 

The roar of winds and waves, the crush of ice, 

Now ceasing, now renew'd with louder rage, 

And in dire echoes bellowing round the main. 

More to embroil the deep, leviathan 

And his unwieldy train, in dreadful sport, 

Tempest the loosen'd brine ; while through the gloom, 

Far, from the bleak inhospitable shore, 

Loading the winds, is heard the hungry howl 

Of famish'd monsters, there awaiting wrecks. 

Yet Providence, that ever-waking eye, 1020 

Looks down with pity on the feeble toil 

Of mortals lost to hope, and lights them safe 

Through all this dreary labyrinth of fate. 

'Tis done ! — Dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, 
And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year. 
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies ! 
How dumb the tuneful ! Horror wide extends 
His desolate domain. Behold, fond man ! 1028 

See here thy pictur'd life ; pass some few years — 
Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength, 




Thy sober Autumn fading into age, 

And pale concluding Winter conies at last, 

And shuts the scene. Ah ! whither now are fled 

Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes = 




Q Q 



298 WINTER. 

Of happiness ? those longings after fame ? 

Those restless cares ? those busy bustling days ? 

Those gay-spent, festive nights ? those veering thoughts, 

Lost between good and ill, that shar'd thy life ? 

All now are vanish'd ! Virtue sole survives, 

Immortal, never-failing friend of man, 1040 

His guide to happiness on high. — And see ! 

'Tis come, the glorious morn ! the second birth 

Of heaven and earth ! Awakening nature hears 

The new-creating word, and starts to life, 

In every heighten'd form, from pain and death 

For ever free. The great eternal scheme 

Involving all, and in a perfect whole 

Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads, 

To reason's eye refin'd clears up apace. 

Ye vainly wise ! ye blind presumptuous ! now, 1050 

Confounded in the dust, adore that Power 

And Wisdom oft arraign'd : see now the cause 

Why unassuming worth in secret liv'd, 

And died, neglected ; why the good man's share 

In life was gall and bitterness of soul ; 

Why the lone widow and her orphans pin'd 




R.RCDrjiAVfc.AR 



In starving solitude — while luxury, 

In palaces, lay straining her low thought 

To form unreal wants ; why heaven-born truth 

And moderation fair, wore the red marks 

Of superstition's scourge ; why licens'd pain, jg: 

That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe, 




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WINTER. 



Embitter'd all our bliss. Ye good distress'd ! 
Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand 
Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while ; 
And what your bounded view, which only saw 
A little part, deem'd evil is no more : 
The storms of wintry time will quickly pass, 
And one unbounded Spring encircle all. 



1069 








A HYMN, 




These, as they change, Almighty Father, these, 
Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring 
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. 
Wide-flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; 



304 A HYMN. 

Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; 

And every sense, and every heart, is joy. 

Then comes thy glory in the summer months, 

With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun 

Shoots full perfection through the swelling year; 10 

And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks — 

And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 

By brooks and groves, in hollow- whispering gales. 

Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfin'd, 

And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 

In Winter, awful thou ! with clouds and storms 

Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll'd, 

Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing 

Riding sublime, thou bidd'st the world adore, 

And humblest nature with thy northern blast. 20 

Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine, 
Deep-felt, in these appear ! a simple train, 
Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art, 
Such beauty and beneficence combin'd ; 
Shade, unperceiv'd, so softening into shade ; 
And all so forming an harmonious whole ; 
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. 



A HYMN. 305 

But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, 
Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand, 
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ; 30 

Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, thence 
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; 
Flings from the sun direct the naming day ; 
Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ; 
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, 
With transport touches all the springs of life. 

Nature, attend ! join every living soul, 
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, 
In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise 
One general song ! To him, ye vocal gales, 40 

Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes : 
Oh talk of him in solitary glooms ! 
Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine 
Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. 
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, 
Who shake the astonish'd world, lift high to heaven 
The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 
His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; 
And let me catch it as I muse along. 



306 A HYMN. 

Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ; 50 

Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 

Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, 

A secret world of wonders in thyself, 

Sound his stupendous praise — whose greater voice 

Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. 

Soft-roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, 

In mingled clouds to him — whose sun exalts, 

Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. 

Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to him ; 

Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, 60 

As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. 

Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep 

Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, 

Ye constellations, while your angels strike, 

Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. 

Great source of day ! best image here below 

Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, 

From world to world, the vital ocean round, 

On nature write with every beam his praise. 

The thunder rolls : be hush'd the prostrate world ; 70 

While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. 



A HYMN. 307 

Bleat out afresh, ye hills ; ye mossy rocks, 

Retain the sound ; the broad responsive low, 

Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns ; 

And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. 

Ye woodlands all, awake : a boundless song 

Burst from the groves ; and when the restless day, 

Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, 

Sweetest of birds ! sweet philomela, charm 

The listening shades, and teach the night his praise. 80 

Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles; 

At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all, 

Crown the great hymn ! in swarming cities vast, 

Assembled men, to the deep organ join 

The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear, 

At solemn pauses, through the swelling base ; 

And, as each mingling flame increases each, 

In one united ardour rise to heaven. 

Or if you rather choose the rural shade, 

And find a fane in every sacred grove ; 90 

There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, 

The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, 

Still sing the God of Seasons, as they roll. 



308 A HYMN. 

For me, when I forget the darling theme, 
Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray 
Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, 
Or Winter rises in the blackening east, 
Be my tongue mute — may fancy paint no more, 
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat ! 

Should fate command me to the farthest verge 100 
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, 
Rivers unknown to song — where first the sun 
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 
Flames on the Atlantic isles — 'tis nought to me : 
Since God is ever present, ever felt, 
In the void waste as in the city full ; 
And where he vital spreads, there must be joy. 
When even at last the solemn hour shall come, 
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, 
I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers, no 

Will rising wonders sing : I cannot go 
Where Universal Love not smiles around, 
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their sons ; 
From seeming evil still educing good, 
And better thence again, and better still, 



A HYMN. 



309 



In infinite progression. But I lose 

Myself in him, in Light ineiFable ! 

Come then, expressive silence, muse his praise. 



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NOTES ON THE SEASONS, 



BY THE AUTHOR. 



NOTES. 



SPRING. 

Note 1. Line 757. p. 45. 

Such as amazing frowns 
On utmost Kildas shore. 
The farthest of the Western Islands of Scotland. 



SUMMER. 



Note 1. Line 564. p. 101. 

And art thou, Stanley, of that sacred band f 

A young lady, well known to the author, who died at the age of 
eighteen, in the year 1738. 

Note 2. Line 641. p. 105. 

But kind before him sends, 
Issuing from out the portals of the morn, 
The general breeze. 
Which blows constantly between the tropics from the east, or 
the collateral points, the north-east and south-east : caused by the 
pressure of the rarefied air on that before it, according to the 
diurnal motion of the sun from east to west. 



314 NOTES. 

Note 3. Line 645. p. 105. 

That see, each circling year, 
Returning suns and double seasons pass. 

In all places between the tropics, the sun, as he passes and re- 
passes in his annual motion, is twice a year perpendicular, which 
produces this effect. 

Note 4. Line 710. p. 108. 

Behold ! in plaited mail, 
Behemoth rears his head. 

The hippopotamus, or river-horse. 

Note 5. Line 740. p. 109. 
But, if she bids them shine, 
Array d in all the beauteous beams of day, 
Yet frugal still, she humbles them in song. 
In all the regions of the torrid zone, the birds, though more 
beautiful in their plumage, are observed to be less melodious than 
ours. 

Note 6. Line 827. p. 114. 

Menanrts orient stream, that nightly shines 
With insect-lamps. 
The river that runs through Siam ; on whose banks a vast mul- 
titude of those insects called fire-flies make a beautiful appearance 
in the night. 

Note 7. Line 840. p. 114. 
The mighty Orellana. 
The river of the Amazons. 



NOTES. 315 

Note 8. Lines 984. and 986. p. 121. 
The circling typhon, whirl 'd from point to point, 
Exhausting all the rage of all the shy, 
And dire ecnephias, reign. 

Typhon and ecnephias, terms for particular storms or hurricanes, 
known only between the tropics. 

Note 9. Line 987. p. 121. 

Deep in a cloudy speck 
Compressed, the mighty tempest brooding dwells. 

Called by sailors the ox-eye, being in appearance at first no 
bigger. 

Note 10. Line 1001. p. 122. 

With such mad seas the daring Gama fought. 

Vasco da Gama, the first who sailed round Africa, by the Cape 
of Good Hope, to the East Indies. 

Note 11. Line 1010. p. 123. 

The Lusitanian prince. 
Dom Henry, third son to John the First, king of Portugal. His 
strong genius to the discovery of new countries was the chief source 
of all the modern improvements in navigation. 

Note 12. Line 1058. p. 125. 

From Ethiopia's poison 'd woods, 
From stifled Cairo 's filth, and fetid fields 
With locust-armies putrefying heaped, 
This great destroyer sprung. 

These are the causes supposed to be the first origin of the plague, 
in Dr. Mead's elegant book on that subject. [A short discourse 
concerning pestilential contagion, &c. London, 1720. 8vo.] 



316 NOTES. 

Note 13. Line 1347. p. 139. 
So stands the statue that enchants the world. 
The Venus of [the] Medici. 

Note 14. Line 1408. p. 143. 

Or ascend, 
While radiant Summer opens all its pride, 
Thy hill, delightful Sheen ? 

The old name of Richmond, [shene'] signifying in Saxon shining, 
or splendour. 

Note 15. Line 1411. p. 143. 
The sister-hills that skirt her plain. 
Highgate and Hampstead. 

Note 16. Line 1528. p. 149. 

With him 
His friend, the British Cassius, fearless hied. 

Algernon Sidney. 

Note 17. Line 1551. p. 150. 
The generous Ashley thine, the friend of man. 
Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury. 



AUTUMN. 



Note 1. Line 786. p. 211. 
High Olympus pouring many a stream ! 
The mountain called by that name in the lesser Asia. 



BfoTES. 317 

Note 2. Line 793. p. 211. 
Cold Rhipaan rocks, which the wild Russ 
Believes the stony girdle of the world. 
The Muscovites call the Rhipsean mountains Weliki Camenypoys, 
\_Pojas Semnoi, says Strahlenberg,] that is, the great stony girdle ; 
because they suppose them to encompass the whole earth. 



Note 3. Line 802. p. 211. 
The bending Mountains of the Moon. 
A range of mountains in Africa, that surround almost all Mono- 
motapa. 

Note 4. Line 1050. p. 223. 

That temple where, in future times, 
Thou well shalt merit a distinguish'' d name. 

The temple of virtue in Stowe gardens. 



WINTEE. 



Note 1. Line 359. p. 263. 

The generous hand, 
Who, touch' 'd with human woe, redressive search' 'd 
Into the horrors of the gloomy jail ? 

The jail committee, in the year 1729. 



318 NOTES. 

Note 2. Line 457. p. 268. 

I see. 
As at Thermopylce he glorious Jell, 
The firm devoted chief. 

Leonidas. 

Note 3. Line 464. p. 268. 
A haughty rival's fame. 
Themistocles. 

Note 4. Line 476. p. 269. 

The Theban pair, 
Whose virtues, in heroic concord joined, 
Their country raidd to freedom. 

Pelopidas and Epaminondas. 

Note 5. Line 507. p. 270, 
The public father, who the private quelVd. 
Marcus Junius Brutus. 

Note 6. Line 513. p. 270. 

Thy willing victim, Carthage, bursting loose 
From all that pleading nature could oppose. 
Regulus. 

Note 7. Line 655. p. 278. 

Whatever canjdeck mankind, 
Or charm the heart, in generous Bevil showed. 
A character in the Conscious Lovers, written by Sir Richard 
Steele. 



NOTES. 319 

Note 8. Line 808. p. 286. 
The golden coa&t of rich Cathay. 
The old name for China. 

Note 9. Line 836. p. 287. 
By frosty caurus piercd. 
The north-west wind. 

Note 10. Line 840. p. 287. 

They once relumd the flame 
Of lost mankind in polish' d slavery sunk, 
Drove martial horde on horde. 

The wandering Scythian clans. 

Note 11. Line 875. p. 289. 

Where pure Niemis fairy mountains rise. 

M. de Maupertuis, in his book on The Figure of the Earth, after 
having described the beautiful lake and nioimtain of Niemi, in 
Lapland, says : " From this height we had occasion several times to 
see these vapours rise from the lake, which the people of the country- 
call Haltios, and which they deem to be the guardian spirits of the 
mountains. We had been frighted with stories of bears that 
haunted this place, but saw none. It seemed rather a place of 
resort for fairies and genii than for bears." [London, 1738. 8vo. 
p. 56.] 

Note 12. Line 876. p. 289. 

Andfring'd with roses Tenglio rolls his stream. 

The same author observes : " I was surprised to see, upon the . 
banks of this river (the Tenglio), roses of as lively a red as any that 
are in our gardens." [p. 56.'] 



320 NOTES. 

Note 13. Line 893. p. 290. 


y 




Beholds new seas beneath another sky. 




The other hemisphere. 




Note 14. Line 925. p. 292. 




Such was the Britorisfate, 




As with first prow (what have not Britons dar'd!) 
He for the passage sought attempted since 
So much in vain. 


Sir Hugh Willoughby, sent by queen Elizabeth to discover the 


north-east passage. 




THE END. 


■ 


London : 
Spottiswoode and Shaw, 
- „ New- street- Square. 





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